


Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

by flashofthefuse



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 21:59:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 43,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7240105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/pseuds/flashofthefuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Phryne left for England, Jack did not follow, but attempted to woo her from a distance with unsatisfactory results. Phryne returns to Melbourne and the two of them stumble as they work to reestablish their connection, with some assistance from well meaning friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story uses one of my favorite Shakespeare comedies as inspiration and is a loose update of that tale. Let me know if you recognize it. (The title is a pretty solid hint.)

“We’ve had another telegram from Miss Fisher. She should be home any day now,” Dot told her husband as they sat at the counter at City South, sharing the lunch she’d brought.

“She’s made good time. Where was she last time she wrote?” Hugh said, sounding in awe at the very idea of that kind of travel.

“India. And it only took her seven days to travel there from England!”

“How is that even possible?” Hugh asked.

“It’s amazing!” Dot replied. “She’s traveled by commercial airplane, train, and even something called a flying boat!”

“And she did this all by herself? Traveling alone?” Hugh said.

“Why should that surprise you, Hugh Collins? After knowing her all this time do you imagine Miss Fisher would require a chaperone? Or do you just think that no woman might be able to manage on her own?”

“Mr. Butler must be very glad she’ll be home soon. I know you are,” he said, trying to change the subject. His wife got very prickly indeed at the mere whisper of criticism of Miss Fisher, regardless how innocent a comment may have been. Hugh sometimes found this idol worship of her boss a bit hard to take.

“Of course we’re both excited! You know how I cried when I heard the news, but would you believe it? I think I saw a tear or two in Mr. Butler’s eyes as well.”

“Am I to understand we can expect Magellan back in our midst soon?” Jack said, stepping out from where he’d been eavesdropping in the hallway. “It seems just yesterday she left. I’d have thought she’d still be circling the globe.”

“Magellan, sir?” Hugh asked, looking confused. “Dot and I were talking about Miss Fisher.”

Dot rolled her eyes, smiling at the Inspector. “He knows that, Hugh. Do you really feel like she just left, Inspector? It seems to me she’s been gone for ages,” she said.

“You should hear her travel plans, sir. And all on her own too!” he shot Dotty a glance, realizing his mistake, “I mean, she must get very lonely traveling by herself.”

“I’m quite sure Miss Fisher has found as many companions along the way as she would like,” Jack said. “She can certainly be a quickly made friend, if not always a steady one,” he added before he could stop himself.

“I’m sure you don’t mean that Inspector!” Dot objected. “Miss Fisher is the truest friend anyone could hope for!”

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Collins,” he said smiling indulgently. “She’s got a list of _‘old friends_ ’ as long as your arm to prove it.”

He was quite sure she’d been adding extensively to that list, and that far too many of them would eventually cross his path, but it was all part and parcel to loving Phryne Fisher.

He’d been so hopeful when she left, and though he couldn’t come after her physically, he’d tried to keep their budding romance alive with correspondence. He’d failed miserably. His writing was stilted and cold. Without her in front of him, he’d been unsure of himself and unable to convey his feelings properly. It didn’t help that her letters to him had been filled with stories of her adventures and allusions to the fascinating ‘acquaintances’ she was making along the way. A disproportionate number of them male.

_‘There’s a whole world out there.’_

Her last words hadn’t bothered him at the time they were spoken. Not while he could still taste her on his lips and feel her in his arms. Not when she was smiling so dazzlingly up at him, and even turning back to look at him as she ran to the plane. At the time he recognized her words as simply an expression of who she was. Phryne was always looking forward to, and excited by, the next adventure. It didn’t bother him. He loved that about her, but, after she’d been gone awhile, the uneasiness had crept in.

What if the next adventure included someone more exciting than him? Or the one after that? Sooner or later someone would come along to pull her away. How could that not happen? She was a vibrant, beautiful woman, so full of life, with a desire to live it at full tilt.

He was a sensible, plodding, steady person. Not prone to flights of fancy or spontaneous actions. He wanted to change that. Not just for her, but because it seemed like a much more satisfying way to live. He thought that with her by his side it might happen. It had happened. While she was here, he’d changed. He’d begun to take more chances and live more boldly. Then she’d left.

Her letters, at first warm and open, had grown guarded, less personal. She stopped mentioning that she missed him —not that she’d ever said that directly, but it had been there, between the lines. Later letters had been casual, breezy travelogues, lacking in any intimacies. They’d also grown infrequent, finally falling off until he’d barely heard from her at all. This last month there’d been not a single letter or even a telegram. She hadn’t even written to tell him she was on her way back, he’d had to glean that tidbit of information from overhearing conversations between Hugh and his wife. He tried, but was unable to refrain from feeling a little bitter over her silence.

Even if his own letters were less than profuse, she should have been able to grasp the emotion hidden there. Maybe he should have borrowed more from Shakespeare and Rilke, but his cautious nature had won out and he’d been tepid where he should have blazed. Then again, maybe she simply no longer felt the same.

It was beyond frustrating. He was so sure and confident in almost every other aspect of his life. He was looked up to by the men under him and appreciated by his superiors. He was an accomplished, intelligent man. Why did she make him feel like such an insecure child at times?

“When, exactly, do you expect her home?” he asked, abashed by the hope and anticipation he heard in his voice.

“Oh, it won’t be long now,” Dot replied. It was an annoyingly vague answer, as far as Jack was concerned.

 

* * *

 

 

Phryne rose late. She’d travelled almost non-stop those last few days and had arrived home yesterday evening, exhausted. As she’d requested, only Mr. Butler and Dot had been home to greet her, and Dot had left shortly after her arrival to go home to her husband. Mr. Butler had fed her an excellent meal, after which she’d curled up in her favorite spot in the parlor with a glass of whisky. Before too long, her eyes had begun to droop, and after a hot bath, she’d taken herself off to bed. It was so good to be back in her own bedroom, in her own bed, with the luxurious linens she’d picked out herself and surrounded by all her own things.

London had been —well, tolerable, was the only word that came to mind. Admittedly it was a big improvement on traveling with her father, and she’d been happy to see her mother, but the cold and damp were dreary and the company even more so. News of the market crash in America had caused reactions ranging from mild concern to outright panic and had definitely cast a pall over the social season. Her father’s sale of the estate in Somerset turned out to be prescient. Even if he was able to find a buyer now, he’d never have been able to get the same amount today. He’d managed to pay off his debts and still come away with enough to set himself and her mother up in a decent town home in London. Once again, he’d managed to be deceitful, behave horribly, and somehow come out smelling like roses. It really wasn’t fair.

The financial instability hadn’t dampened her own spirits much. Her investments were stable and she’d taken steps immediately to ensure they stayed that way. Besides, as long as she had enough to maintain her household in Melbourne, she’d be happy. She could scale back on luxuries if need be, and she had her work. She’d just have to be less generous with that work. More paying customers, less favors for friends and tagging along on police investigations that were admittedly satisfying, but resulted in little remuneration.

But, it wasn’t money woes, or even the lack of good company that had her down. Her inability to enjoy herself, though she was loathe to admit it, had more to do with some incredibly infuriating correspondence with a certain Detective Inspector. In the letters there had been little evidence of her witty, and darkly funny friend, and even less of the slyly flirtatious, Shakespeare quoting, closet romantic.

It had all started with such promise! She was absolutely perplexed by the whole affair. Or, more accurately, lack thereof. Could it be that he was one of those men for whom the chase held all appeal, and once she’d declared her interest, his own had waned? She couldn’t imagine him so fickle! She concluded there was no point sitting around moping about it, so she’d headed home. Once they were back on the same continent she’d be able to assess the true nature of things.

Not that she’d ever let him think she had rushed home to him! That was most definitely not the case, and she’d had her share of fun along to way to prove it. She’d simply had enough of travel and longed to be home. Unraveling the mystery of Jack Robinson was just one,  small, part of it.

A very small part at that. In fact, she’d spent more than enough time thinking on it already. She sat up in bed. Where was Dot with her tea? Normally she’d be at the door before Phryne’d even had time to realize she wanted it. Dot had apparently lost her touch while Phryne had been away. She got up and pulled on a robe that had been thoughtfully laid out at the foot of the bed for her, and headed downstairs in search of sustenance and a distraction to occupy her mind.

She found both before too long. Mr. Butler had laid out a lovely welcome home breakfast for her. Well, it was more like luncheon by the clock, but she’d never lived by anything as predictable as time. There was enough food to feed a small army, which proved fortuitous when Dot’s husband stopped in to visit his wife on his lunch break.

Dot’s husband. The idea was still foreign to Phryne. She adored Dot and Hugh and was very glad they’d worked through their difficulties and found their way to the alter. She was happy for Dot, but still found it hard to reconcile why any woman would want to marry. Dot may not have had the means to live as independently as she herself did, but Phryne compensated her companion well, gave her a home and an arguably exciting life. Why Dot had felt the need to add a husband to the mix was beyond Phryne’s comprehension.

 _Love_ would be Dot’s explanation but love was a fleeting and sometimes false thing. It was no reason to yoke oneself to a man to be led about for the rest of one’s life. Why throw away your freedom over something as fickle as love?

“Miss Fisher!” Hugh said as he took a seat at the table, “Dot told me you were back. It’s so wonderful to see you again! Is it nice to be home?”

“It’s lovely to see you as well, dear Hugh,” she replied, “and it is nice to be home. Thank you for asking. I’m most anxious to get back into the swing of things and to catch up with all my friends. You must tell me, what have I missed in my absence.”

“Oh, just the usual, Miss Fisher,” Hugh replied, already distracted by the food in front of him.

“Miss,” Mr. Butler interrupted, “I have some correspondence here for you. I’ve weeded out the unimportant bits. Would you like to see it now?”

Phryne waved her hand, reaching out for the pile. “Thank you, Mr. Butler,” she said between bites. She flipped through the rather uninteresting looking stack until she came across what appeared to be an invitation. She tore it open, scanned the contents and squealed with delight.

“Oh how marvelous! A fancy dress ball! Apparently the young Leonard girl has gone and gotten herself engaged, and there is to be a celebration.”

“Leonard?” Hugh repeated. “Would that be this Saturday night?”

“Why yes, Hugh. How did you know that?” Phryne asked.

“The Inspector's been grumbling about it for days now. Seems the Leonards will have some fancy jewels on display at the party. The Commissioner has assigned Inspector Robinson to attend and keep an eye on them.”

“Really?” Phryne said. This party was suddenly looking even more interesting. “I imagine he’s not terribly happy about that. Wouldn’t this type of assignment normally go to a less senior officer?”

“Normally,” Hugh agreed, “But Leonard is a personal friend of the Commissioner. He doesn’t want an obvious police presence to disrupt the gathering. The Commissioner has told the Inspector he’s to attend undercover as just another guest.”

“In fancy dress?” Phryne said, trying very hard not to laugh. This just kept getting better and better. “The poor Inspector! Perhaps I should stop by and see if there is any way I can assist him in planning his costume.”

“I think he already has something in mind,” Hugh shrugged.

“No doubt he’s planning to ‘disguise’ himself as a police detective or something equally dull. No. I think it would be in his best interest to let me advise him. I know these people and what they will expect. I’ll go see him as soon as I’m dressed.”

She stood and bounced happily from the room.

“I’d better be getting back to work,” Hugh said, rising from his seat. “I’m not sure the Inspector will appreciate Miss Fisher’s help,” he mused, “while she’s been away he often said how refreshing it was not having her turn up at our crime scenes. I can’t tell you how many times he must've mentioned her name, and his relief at being without her interference.”

Dot and Mr. Butler exchanged a knowing look and sly grin. Dot loved her husband dearly, but Hugh could sometimes be amazingly obtuse.

Miss Phryne’s resolve to visit the station today was welcome news indeed. It meant that Dot and Mr. Butler would most likely win the wager. They’d said it would occur within twenty four hours of her arriving back. Dr. MacMillan had allowed for thirty-two hours, stating that Miss Phryne’s pride would require giving him time to come to her first.

The good Doctor might cry foul, but Dot felt no guilt about having suggested to her husband that he stop over for lunch today. His having brought news which drew Miss Phryne to City South was purely coincidental.

“I’ll walk you back, Hugh,” Dot said. She really wanted to be present when Miss Fisher and the Inspector saw each other again for the first time. She knew Mr. Butler would be keen to hear about the reunion as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne visits Jack at work. The resulting reunion is unsatisfying.

He heard her well before she appeared. He’d known she was back because Collins had mentioned it first thing this morning. Since then he’d been arguing with himself as to whether to telephone, or maybe stop by after his shift ended, but he’d yet to come up with a reasonable excuse to do either. Simply wanting to welcome her back seemed inadequate. Now, happily, she’d saved him any further debate. He tried to still his features in hopes of concealing how very excited he was to see her again. He bent his head over the open file folder on his desk and didn’t lift it when he heard her pause in his doorway.

“How very predictable,” he heard her say. “Here you sit, just where I left you,”

He thought to remark that she’d actually left him on a dry and dusty airfield. Instead, without raising his head, he said, sarcastically, “Why should that surprise you, Miss Fisher? In fact, I’ve not moved an inch in months. Surely you know the world stops in your absence?”

“I should hope so, Jack. It would hardly be fair if I missed something interesting,” she said, strolling in and taking the seat across from his desk without waiting for an invitation. “I trust you missed me?”

He’d been expressly avoiding looking at her, knowing that as soon as he did he’d get lost in her eyes and she’d be able to read him like a book. However, it was fast becoming more conspicuous not to look, so he raised his head and, for the first time in months, met her eye.

He couldn’t stop the small smile that resulted. She was possibly even more beautiful than he’d remembered. She returned his smile and for a moment it was as though no time had passed at all. It might have been just yesterday that they’d sat like this.

“Your detailed descriptions of your travels almost made me feel I was witnessing your exploits firsthand. I hardly had a chance to realize you’d gone,” he said.

“I’m glad I was able to keep you entertained. From what I hear things are so dull around here you’ve been relegated to babysitting heirlooms.”

He shook his head slightly and pinched the bridge of his nose. Not back in town two minutes and already she’d induced his Constable to reveal confidential police business.

“You’ve been speaking with Hugh,” he said.

“Yes, and it’s a good thing I have,” she said. "It's your lucky day, Jack! I have an extensive collection of costumes and I’ve no doubt we can find something wonderful. Perhaps we can even coordinate. I believe I have just the thing to transform us into Samson and Delilah.”

 _An apt choice_ , he thought. Delilah, _“she who weakened”_ —the dangerous temptress that was Samson’s downfall.

“Are you under the mistaken impression that I require a companion for the evening?” he said, his impassive expression returning. “This is not a social engagement for me, Miss Fisher.”

“Well it is for me! I will be attending as an invited guest, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun together.”

“I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding another friend to entertainment you,” he said,dryly. “I will be there on official police business.”

“Don’t be like that, Jack,” she cajoled. “Come to dinner tonight. We can try out some costume ideas afterward.”

He couldn’t imagine anything more torturous than watching her model one suggestive outfit after another. A part of him wanted to accept her invitation, but a larger part wasn’t ready. She’d taken him by surprise and the whole costume thing was too reminiscent of an earlier evening. One where he’d felt raw and wounded and had been sorely tempted. Fate had intervened that night to save him. Tonight, if he found himself alone with her, he knew there’d be nothing that could stop him. Nothing that would save him, and he was too unsure of where he stood with her. They’d lost too much ground while she’d been away.

“I’m afraid I can't accept your kind offer,” he said. “I am otherwise engaged this evening and while I appreciate your generosity, I’m perfectly capable of finding a costume of my own.”

His only other engagement was with a book and a glass of whisky, but she didn’t need to know that. Just as she didn’t need to know that most of his evenings since she’d left had looked much the same.

“I see,” she said, her wounded expression made him immediately regret his dismissive response. “Well, I’ll leave you to your work then Jack, and I hope you enjoy your evening.”

She rose and strode so swiftly from his office he didn’t have a chance to say anything further. He dropped his head back, rolling his eyes in frustration. She’d been perfectly friendly, even, seemingly, happy to see him. How could he have been so cold?

But, what had she expected? She breezes into his office, unannounced, after weeks of silence, behaving as if she’d seen him just yesterday and everything was as it had always been! Then again, why shouldn’t she? It would have been so easy to slip back into their routine and, maybe, things would then have righted themselves of their own accord. _I just don’t know how to do this, I keep mucking it up_ , he thought.

There wasn’t much to be done about it now, he couldn’t very well go chasing into the street after her. He’d find a way to make it up to her in the next day or two. At least he knew he’d see her again on Saturday, and that knowledge made the tedious assignment he’d been dreading suddenly more appealing.

 

* * *

 

 _What an insufferable man!_ Phryne thought as she made her way back to her home. _Who needs his dreary company anyway?_

She should never have gone to the station. She should have called and invited him to dinner. After a good meal and a few glasses of whisky he’d have likely been far more amenable to her suggestions. Besides, a reunion sitting across a desk from him was not the one she’d hoped for after so many months away. She’d been too impatient, she’d shown her hand and he’d shut her down before they’d even gotten started. She should never have gone there.

But, she’d wanted to see him, and for a moment, she was sure he was just as happy to see her. She was slightly perplexed by him. He ran so hot and cold. Some of his early letters had contained hints of his passion for her, and his words, though shielded, conveyed how keenly she was missed. He wasn’t the writer of ardent missives —she hadn’t really expected him to be— though, deep down, she knew he had it in him. She’d hoped, as their separation increased, so might his ardor, but instead, the letters had grown progressively proper and ordinary. They were never dull. He was newsy and clever and kept her entertained with the sometimes bumbling antics of a newly wed Hugh Collins, but love letters, they were not.

She’d switched her tack and stopped trying to embed messages of her longing for him between the lines. Instead she’d written of her travels, and tried to spin her trials with her father into the most entertaining tales she could. She threw in a few references to other men in the hopes of lighting a fire under him, but to no avail. It had all been —disappointing. There really was no other word for it.

She pulled the Hispano into the garage and decided to put him from her mind. She’d phone Mac. A night out with her oldest friend would do wonders for improving her mood.

* * *

 

“I’m not at all sure it went well,” Dot fretted.

“Were you able to hear anything, Dorothy?” Mr. Butler asked. They’d waited until Miss Phryne had gone upstairs to discuss her visit to the station.

“Nothing at all,” she sighed. “I tried, but Hugh would keep talking at me. She hardly stayed a minute in his office, and when she left again, she was in a right huff.”

“Oh dear,” Mr. Butler said, “and, when I inquired as to whether she’d be home this evening, she said she was going out with Dr. MacMillan, yet earlier she’d hinted at possibly having a guest here for dinner tonight. I was so sure she meant the Inspector.”

“You don’t think they’ve gone off each other, do you?” Dot said.

“Not a chance. Although, they may need some reminding.”

* * *

 

“You cost me a pretty penny you know,” Mac complained. “You couldn’t even hold out twenty-four hours? Honestly Phryne, I thought I’d die before I ever saw you so hopelessly in love.”

“In love?” Phryne scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Trust me Mac. You will never see me so infatuated that I can’t be brought to my senses by a stiff drink or two. Or a stiff something else, if you catch my meaning.” She eyed a very attractive young man at the bar.

“Is that what tonight is about? Coming to your senses?” Mac said.

“Not remotely. Tonight is about catching up with my best friend. I don’t need any help keeping my senses where Jack Robinson’s concerned.”

“And yet you ran round to see him almost as soon as your feet hit Melbourne soil.”

“I did no such thing! I only went to offer him the use of my extensive costume collection to assist with his assignment.”

“Altruistic motives then?” Mac said, eyeing Phryne over the rim of her cocktail glass.

“Nothing more,” Phryne confirmed. “Of course he rejected my help. Stubborn man! Suits me fine though. Let him show up at that party looking like a fish out of water and attracting attention for all the wrong reasons!” she ranted. “He was just terrible today. It was a very sorry greeting considering how long I’d been away!”

“Not at all what you’d been hoping for?”

“Hoping for? I’m sure I wasn’t hoping for anything,” she sniffed. “I just meant it wasn’t the kind of hello one expects from a friend.”

“Jack’s a friend, is he?”

“What else?”

“Like I said, I thought you were in love with him.”

“In love with _him_!?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of Phryne. He’s a good man, and it happens to the best of us.”

“Not to me,” she said. “Not now, and not likely ever. Now can we drop this line of inquiry and order some food? I’m starving.”

Phryne decided then and there to keep away from City South Station and Jack Robinson. He could come to her if he was so inclined. Not that it greatly mattered. Time had dampened anything that might have been sparking between them. He was a good friend and she enjoyed his company, —and of course his official position was helpful for her investigations— but there was nothing more to it than that. No burning need to see him. Their paths would cross eventually. Saturday night for certain. That was soon enough. It was only four days. She could wait four days.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circumstances and general avoidance keep Phryne and Jack apart and they both prepare for the big fancy dress party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've posted two chapters today. Hope you enjoy!

Two days later Phryne strolled into her kitchen to find Bert and Cec talking with Mr. Butler over tea and toast. Cec popped to his feet as she entered, a wide grin splitting his face. Bert rose too, more slowly, a piece of toast still in hand.

“Miss Fisher!” Cec exclaimed. “Welcome home! It’s good to see you.”

“Yeh,” said Bert. “We heard you was back.”

“Thank you Cec, Bert,” Phryne said. “How wonderful to see you both. I hope you’ve been well. How is Alice, Cec?”

“She’s right fine, miss. Thanks for asking. She’s fussin’ about the wedding. I’d be set just going down to the courthouse, but she wants a bit of a to-do.”

“Yes, well, many a girl has dreamed about her wedding, I’m sure,” she said, clearly not sure. Bert snorted. “Sit down,” she said. “Tell me what I’ve missed.”

“Nothing much, miss,” Cec said. “It’s been pretty quiet round here without you.”

“Saw your friend Robinson yesterday,” Bert grumbled. “He was throwin’ his weight around, harassing poor Bill for nothin’ at all.”

“Bill was falling down drunk and pickin’ fights, Bert,” Cec said. “The Inspector did him a favor getting him out of the pub and lockin’ him up til he was sober. Bill was about to get his teeth kicked in.”

“Well, he don’t need to be so high and mighty about it. A bloke can’t even go out and have a good time anymore,” Bert complained.

“The Inspector was just doing his job, Bert,” Phryne said, “and I’m sure he’d prefer something more challenging than rounding up drunks. He doesn’t do it for fun.”

“You always was soft on that Copper,” Bert mumbled. Phryne looked at him in surprise.

“What else do you hear?” she chirped. “Any mysterious deaths or disappearances that might need investigating? I need to get back to work.”

“Nothing like that, miss,” Cec said.

“We best be hittin’ the road if we want to find any fares today,” Bert said. “Unless you got some work for us?”

“Nothing today I’m afraid,” she said. She was at loose ends. Apparently in her absence people had forgotten about her skills and no one had yet come seeking her professional help. If only she could stumble upon a murder. She was usually so good at that! She felt a little ghoulish wishing for the tragic demise of a fellow human being, but she was bored and restless. So far, her return to Melbourne had fallen well below expectations. _And, without a crime, there’s no reason to see Jack_ , she thought, before remembering she was avoiding him.

* * *

 

Work conspired to keep Jack from Phryne’s door for the next few days. Small things like public drunkenness, petty theft and the like. Unfortunately, nothing spectacular enough to catch her attention. He imagined she was still settling in and had yet to resume any detecting. Maybe she didn’t even plan to resurrect her business. Perhaps she’d grown bored of the whole thing. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it. In addition to all the gnat-like annoyances, an old case, one he’d thought he’d wrapped up, came back to haunt because of an incompetent prosecutor. Before he knew it, the week was out and he’d not had a minute to try to see her.

Saturday morning the costume he’d been requested to wear was delivered to his door. The host of the party, like Miss Fisher, didn’t think him able to properly dress himself, and had insisted on sending over an 'appropriate' costume. He pulled it from the garment bag and cringed. The first thing he noticed was the green. A startlingly bright shade. The felt hat with feather, and the bow and arrow immediate identified the character he was meant to portray. He dug further. _Good God, were those tights_? Was there no humiliation he was to be spared?

At least there was a brown leather tunic of decent length that would provide modest cover. The knee high boots would help some, but his thighs would be overly exposed. He sighed. There was no way round it. He would look ridiculous. Had the hero of legend actually dressed this way, his men would have been very merry indeed, with most of their time spent laughing at their fearless leader.

He searched in vain for a mask of some kind, but there was nothing provided to cover his face. No way to hide from her. A wave of embarrassment washed over him just thinking about it. Why couldn’t she have taken a few more days on her journey home? It was just his luck she’d arrived in time to witness this latest indignity.

Jack didn’t aspire to higher office, but if it meant never again have to put up with this kind of assignment, he might consider a promotion the next time one was offered him. He hung the ridiculous costume out to air and went to putter in his garden trying very hard to keep his mind off the coming evening. At least he’d see her. That was some consolation. Provided she didn’t laugh too hard.

 

* * *

 

Phryne eyed herself in the mirror with satisfaction. It was an inspired costume, if she did say so herself. The padding in all the right places gave her a voluptuously full figure with round hips and a bosom nearly twice its true size.

“Dot! You are a genius!” she cried happily. The red velvet bodice cinched tightly at her waist and laced up the front. It had cleverly hidden wires and more padding at the top that helped to push her breasts high and tight together, so that they nearly fell out the top of the peasant style blouse she wore underneath.

“We could loosen those laces, miss,” Dot said. “It would allow for a bit more modesty.”

“Don’t be silly,” Phryne said, slapping Dot’s hands away. “This is perfection.”

She was the spitting image of the woman in the painting by Charles Robert Leslie, with a few exceptions. She was adding a lace veil and delicate black eye mask in an effort to hide her identity, and a long blond wig —after all, her inspiration for the evening had been described as having “hairs of gold.” Cervantes’ further description read —“her cheeks roses, her lips coral, her teeth pearls, her neck alabaster”— she thought she fit the bill extremely well.

She smiled to think how Jack would be drawn to her without knowing who he was admiring. Surprisingly, the thought of him admiring another woman made her vaguely jealous, even though that other woman would, in actuality, be her. _How curious_.

Dot continued to fuss over the costume, smoothing the draping of the black velvet skirt. “Who are you suppose to be again, miss?” she asked, she could never remember the strange name Miss Phryne had used.

“A woman who inspires love and feats of courage in men, or one man in particular,” Phryne said as she swept from the room in a swirl.

That didn’t really help Dot much, but she realized it was all the information she was going to get.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the party arrives. Jack nearly steps in it.

Jack was managing to remain on the outskirts of the action, a part of his attention always on the most valuable thing in the room. He glanced intermittently at the tiara as well. Why anyone would want to steal it was beyond him. It must be worth something, he supposed, but it was a hideous thing. Bright gold, gaudy and profusely covered in gemstones. He thought it truly tasteless. The party goers seemed intrigued by it though, and filed past the stand on which it was displayed with open awe. Incredibly, the stand appeared to have been made specifically for the thing, as though its owners often set it out to admire.

The room was filled to bursting, and the guests all seemed to be having a marvelous time. Jack had heard about parties like this, in opulent homes with seemingly endless quantities of food and drink. The party at Phryne’s Aunt’s home to celebrate her cousin Guy’s engagement had been much the same, but he’d had little time to observe it. Fancy dress engagement parties must be all the rage these days, he decided, though why grown men and women wanted to spend their evening dressed as someone other than themselves was beyond him.

There were at least three Rudolph Valentinos in attendance and two Charlie Chaplins although, on second look, one of them might be a Buster Keaton. The women were harder to place. If they were aiming to resemble a specific actress, Jack couldn’t tell. He didn’t attend the cinema much. There were several generic greek goddesses and a few princesses, along with literary figures and a sorceress or two.

For a moment, all other surroundings fell away and he felt he’d stepped into a surreal world, like the one beyond the looking glass that Alice had found. Not ten feet away —and he’d never have believed it if he wasn’t looking right at her— was Phryne’s Aunt, and she was dressed like a big, pink, fairy. He blinked, then, realizing his mouth was hanging open, pulled himself upright and tried to arrange his face into a less astonished expression. She was heading his way.

“Mr. Robinson,” she said as she waddled to his side. “I realize I’m not to call you Inspector here,” she whispered, as an aside. “I am so glad to see Randolph took my advice and had the Commissioner send you tonight. One can never be too careful with one’s valuables.”

“Ah, yes,” Jack stammered. “I was not aware I had you to thank for my assignment, Mrs. Stanley.”

“I like to help where I can, and I’m sure you could do with the extra pay,” she said magnanimously, as though his were a work-a-day, clock-punching type of job. “The Leonard’s are dear friends,” she wheezed on, “In fact, Tilly is my godchild. Thus tonight’s costume.”

He looked at this women, one he knew as stern, solid and serious. She had yards of pink, fluffy fabric engulfing her stout frame, tiny wings sprouted from her shoulders, and she held a sparkling wand. It was too much for his mind to reconcile. Apparently his expression gave away his bewilderment.

“I’m a fairy godmother, of course!” she sniffed. “I know it seems surprising that I would partake in this kind of frivolity. Goodness knows I avoided joining in with Guy’s ribald crowd, but this is different. The Leonards are upstanding people and I’ve known Tilly since she was a child. There’s no harm in having a little fun on occasion, is there?”

“Of course not,” he agreed.

“Not for you though,” she said, nodding imperiously. “You’re here on official business. I suppose I should not be distracting you from your duties.”

“I assure you my focus is on the job, Mrs. Stanley, but I appreciate your stopping by, it certainly lends credence to my cover tonight, seeing as the Leonards felt it necessary to hide the true reason for my attendance.”

“That was my idea as well!” she said proudly. “One cannot let one’s friends think they are not trusted.”

She patted him in a patronizing manner and tottered off. _That was —interesting_ , he thought. Not only did he have her to thank for the assignment, but also for the requirement that he dress in such a humiliating fashion. _Miss Fisher’s Aunt Prudence has quite a lot to answer for_.

He shook the bizarre interaction from his head —though he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able look at Mrs. Stanley the same again—and his attention was drawn back to Phryne. She was, not surprisingly, occupied by many admirers in all manner of ridiculous outfits. One of a Valentinos seemed incredibly intent at staying by her side. Every time Jack looked her way, the man was somewhere close to hand.

She did looked fantastic though, which was also not surprising. He found he preferred her own hair and shape to the oversized curves and blond locks she displayed tonight. The mask obscured her face, which was disappointing, but she was her usual ebullient self, and at any size, with any hair, or none at all, she’d always hold his affection beyond that of any other woman he’d ever known, or was likely to. It was a mildly painful thing to admit.

He indulged himself a little and imagined he noticed her looking at him now and then, but she’d yet to come his way, and he was content to watch her from afar.

 

* * *

 

 

Phryne was extremely surprised and pleased when she saw Jack. Whoever had got him into that costume deserved a medal. Even Errol Flynn hadn’t worn it as well. It was almost as good as something she’d have planned for him herself, although she did think the tunic too long. She was lucky enough to catch sight of him as he bent at the waist once, to assist a woman that had dropped her handkerchief. The glimpse she’d seen of his backside was very promising. She had laughed when she caught the eye of the woman that had dropped the kerchief and realized it had been intentional, so that her friends, who’d positioned themselves strategically, could appreciated the resulting view. She raised her glass in a silent salute to the enterprising young women.

She’d been watching Jack off and on since she’d arrived. His encounter with her Aunt was one for the books. The look on his face! Oh how she wished she’d been near enough to overhear that conversation! Aunt Prudence had astonished her tonight, wobbling around looking like a spun sugar treat of gargantuan proportions. It was almost too much!

 _The Detective Inspector in tights, and a fairy-floss Aunt P!_ So far, the evening was shaping up to be very entertaining.

In addition to the young women she’d seen admiring his physique, several other women had also taken note of Jack. There was much speculation about who he was. Melbourne high society was a small pond and any fresh fish, particularly the handsome and mysterious kind, was bound to cause excited ripples. However, she could see that Jack was keeping to himself. He was polite when approached, but didn’t spend much time mingling. Once the party was in full swing, she sauntered over to where he was holding up a post in the corner.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever met, and I do try to make the acquaintance of all the attractive men at a party,” she said, disguising her voice by raising it half an octave and adopting what she seemed to think was a Spanish accent.

 _What is she playing at?_ Jack wondered. Did she really imagine he didn’t know who she was? He’d known her the moment she walked in the door. The way she moved, laughed, her every gesture so familiar to him he’d have picked her out in a mob of hundreds. He decided to play along with whatever game she had in mind.

“Jack Robinson,” he said, introducing himself as if to a stranger. “Friend of the groom-to-be.” That was the cover that had been decided on to explain why no one in the Leonard’s social circle would ever have met him before. “And you are?”

“An old friend of the bride’s family,” she said vaguely. “We go way back. I’ve come from Sydney for the celebration.”

“Ah, well then, welcome to Melbourne,” he said, trying not to laugh. The accent was pretty horrible, as it had been the last time he’d heard her attempt it. For someone that could speak several languages, she was really missing the mark this time.

“Thank you. I hear such wonderful things about your city. I wonder,” she said, conspiratorially, “do you know this woman I keep hearing so much about this evening? The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher? I’m told she is here somewhere.”

“I have met the women,” he said, “though I’m not certain I can say I’ve seen her here tonight.”

“You know her?! Please, tell me, is she as remarkable as they say?”

“Remarkable?” he asked, adopting a bemused expression.

“Yes, I hear she is not only very beautiful, but also an accomplished detective that has assisted in solving many crimes.”

“Oh, that,” he said, dismissively. “Well, you shouldn’t believe all you hear. Most of her success is due to her work with an extremely clever, but modest, detective with the Victoria Constabulary. Or, so I’m told.”

“Are you saying this man is the key to her success, but he allows her the credit?” She said, the Spanish accent slipping a little. Behind the mask, her eyes flashed with irritation.

“I can’t say she deserves none of the credit, but some of the praise might be misplaced.”

“You don’t think her clever?”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s as clever as most, but I doubt it’s much more than the intuition prescribed to all members of the weaker sex.” He could almost feel her anger building, but she wouldn’t give up the charade just yet.

“Interesting theory but how then do you explain the remarkable stories I hear?” She asked, doing her best to stay in character, but a snippy edge had crept into her tone.

“I imagine her title and rank play largely. People do like to hold members of the aristocracy in high esteem and bright young things enjoy a bit of gossip, I hear.”

“Exaggerations then? I suppose her beauty has been exaggerated as well?”

“Oh, no. She is definitely beautiful and has more than her share of admirers. I believe she enjoys the attention but I don’t claim to be an expert at interpreting the lady’s affections. Some have called her _capricious_ ,” he said with a knowing tilt of the head.

He heard her sharp intake of breath. He was rusty at this back and forth, and the mask and veil did more to obscure her features than he’d have liked, making her expression hard to read. The way she jutted out her chin and the set of her shoulders made him fear he may have gone too far.

He struggled to swallow, his mouth suddenly too dry.

“Clearly her charms are lost on you. A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Robinson. It’s been — _enlightening_ ,” she said, turning to go.

“Phryne,” he said, quietly, the name falling from his lips like a stone. She stilled, and he watched as her shoulders dropped. She huffed in annoyance, and turned to face him again.

“When did you know it was me?” she asked.

“The minute you entered the room. Did you really think for a moment I didn’t know you?”

“How could you? I look nothing like myself! No one has recognized me!”

He could have told her that, even if her mannerisms hadn’t revealed her, he’d still have known her from the way his pulse quickened when she got within ten feet of him.

“I’m a detective. Being observant comes with the job,” he said, instead.

“Oh yes. How could I forget?” she said, petulantly, “The great detective who stands in the shadows and lets the little lady take all the credit!”

“It was a joke, Phryne,” he said. “All of it was a joke. Did I take it too far?”

Her lips pursed and she quirked an eyebrow.

“No need to concern yourself, Jack. I’m not put out. You’re just not very funny,” she said with a wave of her hand. “And, none too observant either.”

“What does that mean?”

She leaned in close. It was the closest she’d been to him in months and the scent of him; sandalwood soap, hair pomade and _Jack_ , filled her senses, making her slightly dizzy. “You’re guarding paste tonight, you know,” she whispered into his ear.

“I beg your pardon?” He croaked. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly, she was so near, and her breath in his ear had him worrying about the length of his tunic again, and the damned tights.

“The tiara,” she clarified, pulling back a little, allowing some blood to return to his head. “Those jewels are about as genuine as—” she cast about for a suitable comparison.

“Your bosom tonight?” he suggested, earning him an astonished glare that was rather fetching.

“Perhaps you’re funnier than I thought, Jack,” she said.

“The tiara’s a fake?” he asked, “How can you tell?”

“The family claims that tiara is an heirloom that they can trace back to an ancestor who was a lady-in-waiting to Katherine of Aragon,” she snorted. “Katherine of Aragon, Jack? That sounds like just the thing a swindler would cook up to try and unload a monstrosity like that on some gullible mark. Vaguely believable but impossible to confirm. It’s just the kind of thing my father would come up with. Trust me, I know.”

“I do trust you,” he said automatically, “So, you think they’ve made up the ancestor then?”

“Oh no. I’m quite sure Randolph Leonard believes what he says. The thing has apparently been handed down through several generations. The story must have been invented by whoever was dull enough to be duped into purchasing it.”

“You’re sure it’s a fake?”

“Look at it! It’s not nearly old enough to have been from the era they claim. It’s a bad take on baroque style, so wrong century right off the bat. And those are not real gemstones. It’s most definitely a costume reproduction. Probably from a theater production.”

“Fake. And here I thought it was just ugly,” he said.

“It’s that too,” she agreed.

“Well, fake or real, I’m tasked to protect it,” he said.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself while you do,” she said. “Dance with me, Jack.”

“I wish I could, but I think the Commissioner might frown on that.” He’d seen his boss in the room and knew he was being kept under observation. “I have to keep a watchful eye until they put that thing back in the safe.”

“Well then,” she said. “I’ll be watching it too, and as soon as it’s safely stowed, I expect a dance. Promise me you’ll not run away as soon as your job is done?”

“Once my job is done, and if the host permits me to stay, I’ll dance with you under one condition,” he said.

“What’s that?” she asked, skeptically.

“Remove the mask,” he said, his eyes intently locked on hers.

“Is that all?” she said, reaching up to untie the eye mask, letting it fall away. “Anything else you’d like me to remove?”

“That will be enough to get on with,” he said, his lips quirking up in the familiar way that always made her breath catch in her chest. She threw a saucy look at him and moved off, swaying her hips teasingly, very much looking forward to later in the evening.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party continues, but doesn't go the way Jack and Phryne hoped.

At precisely eleven o’clock a bell rang out and the crowd turned their attention to where the host and his wife stood, their young daughter and her fiancé beside them. The older couple, in what was perhaps a nod to their claim, appeared to be dressed as King Henry VIII, and presumably Katharine of Aragon. No one in attendance would be so impolite as to point out that, even if their story were true, they were only related to a lady-in-waiting, and not the Queen herself.

The daughter and her fiancé were Romeo and Juliet. Jack thought it an odd choice, considering how that one ended, but they looked pleased with each other, and very much in love.

“Ladies and gentleman, neighbors and dear friends,” Randolph Leonard boomed. He had a voice and form to fit his chosen costume. “We are so pleased you’ve joined us here to celebrate the engagement of our beautiful daughter Clotilde, to the dashing Peter Miller. The young couple will marry next month and then move to America, where Peter has family. A distinguished family at that,” he added.

“Father!” Clotilde scolded. Leonard laughed.

“My daughter has admonished me, so I’ll say no more about that!” he said. “Her mother and I are despairing to see her leave us, but we couldn’t have dreamed of a more wonderful mate for her, and our sadness is tempered by the knowledge that she will be well looked after, and well loved. Thank you all again for joining us this evening. Please take some champagne from the trays being passed and raise a glass.” He waited until most everyone had a glass in hand, then raised his own. “To Clotilde and Peter!” The crowd repeated as one, and everyone drank to the happy couple. “Don’t run off now! Leonard shouted, once the toast was complete. “We’re just getting started!” He signaled the band and they struck up a lively tune.

Once the crowds had dispersed, Leonard caught Jack’s attention and waved him over.

“Inspector,” he said. “If you’ll accompany me, I will return our precious heirloom to the safe. I think the rest of the evening might become too raucous for it to safely remain on display.”

Jack nodded and watched the man carefully lift the tiara from its display and carry it with tremendous regard out of the room. They were heading down a long hallway when the daughter caught up with them.

“Are you putting it away already?” she asked.

“Yes, dear,” her father said, “we want to keep it safe. I know how you look forward to wearing it on your wedding day.”

“May I hold it?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, handing it to her. “Be careful.”

Jack rolled his eyes, it was hardly going to break in half at her touch. Although, its apparent sturdiness supported Phryne’s theory that it wasn’t as old as claimed.

Clotilde carried it gingerly and even more reverently than her father had, if that was possible. Once in the small study, she stood at his shoulder as he opened the safe, and watched as he set it on top of a velvet pillow that had obviously been placed there for the thing to rest upon. The whole performance was absurd. Jack hoped his expression didn’t betray his bemusement.

He looked over the young lady. It was hard to get an accurate impression, since she was wearing a costume and what he assumed was a wig, the hair reaching to the small of her back, but she seemed a fairly sensible girl. This silliness over the unappealing headpiece was curious, to say the least.

Now that his work was done, Jack wondered if it was appropriate for him to stay, as he hoped to, or if they would expect him to immediately leave the party.

“Well, Mr. Leonard,” he said. “I trust you're satisfied that your heirloom is safe?”

“Indeed I am,” Leonard said. “Thank you for your diligence tonight.”

“Yes,” Clotilde said, “Thank you, Inspector, and please don’t feel you need rush off. I very much hope you’ll stay and enjoy yourself.”

“That’s very generous of you, but I wouldn’t want to impose,” Jack said, glancing at Mr. Leonard.

“My daughter has requested you stay, Inspector, and tonight, her word is law,” Leonard said.

“Thank you, perhaps I will stay. For a little while,” Jack said. After all, it would be rude to refuse their hospitality. He made his way back into the ballroom and scanned the crowd for Phryne. He found her on the dance floor and enjoyed watching as she swayed and swung happily. The swashbuckling pirate she danced with was a little handsy for Jack’s liking, but she didn’t appear to mind. The longer Jack watched, the more uneasy he felt. This was a whole new style of dancing, one he was neither familiar, nor comfortable with and seemed to consist of a lot of flailing and kicking of legs. Of course Phryne would be in her element with anything new and slightly daring. The pirate seemed at home as well.

He slipped into a corner to watch, wondering if he could figure out what they were doing and be able to keep up. Or, maybe the band would slow things down. A nice waltz to provide a bit of a breather? But even then the costume would make him feel conspicuous. It was one thing to skirt around the edges of the room, keeping to shadows, it was quite another to take it out onto the dance floor with Phryne. If he were with her, all eyes would be upon them. She looked like she was having so much fun and he really wanted to join her. It had been such a long time since he’d let himself loose a little.

He remembered the trip to Luna Park with her, and the ride on the scenic railway. They’d ridden the carousel as well, her horse rising as his fell, their knees nearly brushing with each pass. He’d bought her an ice cream and she’d won him a prize at the shooting gallery. When it got dark they walked along the Esplanade, her arm linked through his. It had been brilliant, and he couldn’t have cared less who might have seen them or what anyone thought. He wanted more days like that. With her.

He went to find a drink in the hopes of calming his nerves and bolstering his courage. Spotting a server with a tray, he made his way through the crowd and had nearly reached his target when he felt a hand clap him on the shoulder.

“Robinson!” the Commissioner belted. “Good man! Excellent work tonight.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jack said, dismayed to see the server move out of reach. He plastered a polite expression on his face, and turned to his boss. Commissioner Renson wore a fancy suit with an almost iridescent shirt and flashy tie. His hair was slicked back and he had a bowler hat on his head. Jack figured he was meant to be Squizzy Taylor, the notorious gangster. Undoubtedly he intended it as an ironic choice.

Jack didn’t have any real problems with Renson. There’d been some friction in the early days, when Jack would be at events with Rosie, as guests of her father. Events he wouldn’t normally be included in because of his rank. Renson —the Deputy Commissioner at the time— didn’t always approve of Jack’s attendance. He thought it set the wrong precedent. But, that was in the past. Since Jack’s divorce, they didn’t cross paths much socially, and the man certainly couldn't take issue with Jack's performance on the job.

“I appreciate that you’ve seen to this task personally,” Renson said, as though he’d given Jack a choice. “Randolph Leonard is an important man and I wouldn’t entrust this detail just anyone —that’s quite an endorsement of my faith in you, by the way,” he added, in case Jack wasn’t appreciative enough. He’d kept his hand on Jack’s shoulder and seemed to be steering him out of the room.

“I was happy to be of service,” Jack said.

“And, now that your service is complete, I’m sure you’re anxious to be away from here! Not really your kind of crowd, I imagine,” he said, and Jack realized he’d been led right to the front door. He was being dismissed, in no uncertain terms.

“Right,” Jack said, crestfallen. He glanced regretfully back at the ballroom. The music and laughter carried into the hall. “I’ll be taking my leave then, sir, if that is all?”

“Absolutely. You’ve performed your duty admirably. You’re free to go!” Commissioner Renson said, clapping him on the back once more and nearly pushing him out the door.

Jack stepped into the night air and ripped the stupid feathered cap from his head. He didn’t know why he should be surprised. Obviously, he was good enough to have on hand as a subordinate following orders, but was still not considered a social equal.

So much for that dance with Miss Fisher, not that she was likely to miss him. She had men lined up to dance with her. It was probably for the best. He wasn’t exactly feeling confident in this get-up, and he’d just have made a fool of himself.

He reached his vehicle and extracted his trench and hat from the back seat. It was too warm for it, but he’d be damned if he let one more person see him dressed in the preposterous costume. He slipped on the coat and then pulled his fedora down over his eyes. A foul mood was fast coming on, and all he wanted to do now was get home, out of these clothes, and into about a fifth of whisky.

 

* * *

 

Phryne extracted herself from the overly eager pirate with the octopus arms. The boy had two left feet and she was quite sure she’d find herself bruised. She excused herself, feigning a desperate thirst, and found her way to a server most fortuitously having just replenished his tray. Her eyes strayed lazily to Jack’s usual haunts —the pillar by the doorway, the shadowy corners— but she didn’t see him. She noticed that the stand at the front of the room was empty.

She began searching for Jack in earnest, looking in every nook and cranny, and even on the dance floor, but he was nowhere to be found. She made a circuit of the room twice, then a third time, just to be sure. He couldn’t possibly have left. The night was still young and he’d promised her a dance. She spotted Clotilde Leonard and made her way over.

“Tilly dear! You look splendid! I wanted to offer my congratulations on your wonderful news!”

“Miss Fisher! Thank you! It’s so lovely to see you again. What a fantastic costume! I do hope you’re enjoying the party.”

“Oh, yes, it’s delightful. Your fiancé seems a lovely young man. I understand he’s an American. Wherever did you two meet?

“We met while I was abroad. He was doing some traveling too, and we found ourselves in the same Pensione in Positano. It was love at first sight.”

“How wonderful,” Phryne said. Enough with the polite chit chat, it was time to get down to business. “Tell me, do you know what’s become of that dashing man I saw earlier? I believe he is a friend of your fiancé’s.”

Clotilde looked momentarily confused, then as if a bulb had suddenly lit above her head, she smiled. “Oh! Do you mean Robin Hood?” she asked.

“Now that you mention it, yes, I do believe that was the costume he wore.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret. He’s not really a guest. His name is Robinson and he’s a policeman that father hired to protect our tiara. You’ve heard its origins haven’t you.”

“Of course! It’s a magnificent specimen, and such a fascinating tale,” Phryne lied —she needed to steer this conversation back on track before it could be derailed with a lengthly recitation on ancestors and family heirlooms— “and, to be honest I did know the gentleman’s true identity. We are acquainted due to my work as a private detective. I was surprised to see him here, and in costume no less!”

“Father asked him to wear the costume so people wouldn’t be uncomfortable. He did fill it out nicely, didn’t he? Not that he has anything on my Peter, but still, not bad to look at.”

“No not at all,” Phryne agreed. “I was hoping to speak to him about a case I’m working on. To pick his brain a bit, but I can’ seem to find him anywhere.”

“Oh?” Clotilde said, looking around. “I know his job was done, but I did expressly tell him to stay and enjoy himself. Several of my friends hope to persuade him onto the dance floor. I had thought he’d stay, but perhaps he decided to leave after all. I suppose it’s not really his place. I never worry about those things, but Father admonished me later, saying I’d likely made him uncomfortable with my invitation. I don’t see why. It’s a shame if he’s gone,” she said.

“Yes,” Phryne sighed. “It is a shame. Well, I won’t keep you from your guests. It was so nice to catch up with you. Good luck with the wedding and all!” With a fond smile and some air kissing, Phryne swept away.

It looked as though Jack really had left. Even though he had the guest of honor's invitation to stay. Phryne was very confused and a little hurt. Earlier, she thought she’d seen a hint of the way they used to be. He'd seemed genuine when he said he’d seek her out for a dance once his work was done. Why had he left?

What had become of her Jack? Had she imagined it all? The connection they had? The electric spark between them? And the fun? Where was the man that lay next to her under a pier in Queenscliff, then followed her into the drink, in the middle of the night, fully clothed, without a moment's hesitation? Where was the man that could keep up with her and even occasionally beat her at her game, all while using his velvet voice and subtle touches of his hand to melt her insides to goo? And where, for the love of god, was the man that had kissed her on that airfield?

 _Well who needs him_ , Phryne thought, _there are plenty of eligible men who’d be happy to dance with me._

She looked around for a potential partner. The band began playing a waltz. She grabbed another drink from a passing tray and leaned against a pillar, sulking. The couples on the dance floor slowed and drew together, the gentlemen clasping the ladies around the waist and pulling them close. A sudden weariness came over her. No doubt she’d yet to completely recover from her recent travels. She went to retrieve her wrap. She’d had enough for one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to disappoint, but as Phryne says: "Nothing worthwhile is easy."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack are down in the dumps. A plan is hatched. If the two of them can't figure things out on their own, their friends will have to step in.

Sunday found Jack back at his desk and in a sour mood. One too many glasses of whisky the previous night wasn’t helping matters either. At least Collins was on today. Jack was glad he didn’t have to deal with one of the newer Constables. Hugh knew him well enough to read his moods and would keep the more irritating matters off his desk. _Good man, Collins,_ Jack thought to himself.

He considered calling Phryne, just to see how the rest of her evening had gone and maybe explain why he hadn’t been able to dance with her. It still stung to have missed the chance. But, she probably hadn’t given it a second thought. Probably hadn’t even noticed he’d gone. It’s not as though she’d have been lacking for dance partners. He’d just look a fool if he made out like it was something of concern to her. He drummed his fingers absently on the desk.

“Collins!” he barked. An instant later the man appeared in his doorway.

“Yes, sir?”

“It’s too quiet today,” Jack said. “Isn’t there anything needing our attention? Any assaults, missing persons? Anything?”

“Well, sir, there was a call about a missing budgie.”

“A what?”

“A budgerigar, sir. The bird? Someone was keeping one as a house pet and it escaped out a window when a child opened its cage, but I assigned Perkins to look into that. Didn’t really think you’d want to be bothered.”

“Good thinking, Collins.” Jack sighed. _A budgie. Good grief._

“How was the party last night?” Hugh asked, immediately regretting the question. He’d hoped talk of the party might improve the Inspector’s mood, but judging by the dark look that materialized, this was not the right tack.

“Tedious, Collins,” Jack growled, “and a complete waste of my time. If I never set foot in another society event it will be too soon!”

“Sorry to hear that,” Hugh said, backing away. “If anything important comes up, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

He retreated back to the safety of the front of the station. Sometimes, when the Inspector was in one of these moods, it resulted in a lot of busywork. Old cases suddenly needing review, or files reorganizing. It was best to steer clear.

* * *

 

Dot and Mr. Butler hadn’t yet been able to ascertain if Miss Phryne had even laid eyes on the Inspector at the costume ball. Mr. Butler said that she had arrived home much earlier than expected, and quite alone. Dot prepared a tray to take to her bedroom, hoping to pry some information from her.

“Good morning, miss!” Dot said cheerfully as she entered the room. Miss Fisher rolled over in bed and gave Dot a little half smile.

“Good morning, Dot,” she said listlessly.

“Did you enjoy the party? Were the costumes fabulous? I’ll bet you looked the best of everyone!” Dot said, trying to draw her out. She sat up in bed and Dot set down the tray in her lap.

“It was a nice party,” she said, unconvincingly. “Oh! I almost forgot! I wish you had seen my Aunt Prudence! I still can’t think of her without laughing,” Phryne said, perking up considerably.

“What did she wear?” Dot asked, hoping to keep her talking and somehow bring the conversation around to Inspector Robinson. By the time Phryne had finished detailing her aunt’s costume, she was laughing so hard she was crying. Dot, was laughing too, although she was having a very hard time picturing it. It didn’t fit at all with what she knew of Prudence Stanley.

“And, Inspector Robinson?” Dot asked, “Did you see him there? What did he wear? I’ll bet he looked dashing.”

“Oh,” Phryne said, wiping the tears from her eyes and deflating slightly. “I did see him, briefly. He was his usual stick-in-the-mud self. I tried to get him to enjoy the evening, even offering to dance with him, and he did promise he would, but then he snuck off without honoring his debt. The coward.”

“Well, he was working, miss,” Dot said, alarmed because Miss Phryne seemed almost angry.

“No matter, it was of no real consequence,” she said, sounding slightly bitter. “I was kept busy enough without him.”

She still hadn’t gotten over his disappearance. Their conversation had ended on such a promising note. She nibbled at the toast. He’d called her capricious. If anyone was prone to sudden changes of mood, it was he! She suspected, however, that his meaning had been slightly different, and that he’d been implying she was fickle. A not so veiled criticism of her frequent dalliances. She stirred her tea glumly.

“Perhaps you’d care to walk with me to the station, miss? I was thinking of bringing Hugh a treat this afternoon seeing as he and the Inspector caught a weekend shift. You seem a bit downcast. Some fresh air might do you good.”

“No thank you Dot. I’m fine. Just tired. I think I must still be recovering from my travels. Maybe tomorrow I’ll take a trip to the spa, or head over to House of Flueri to see what’s new,” she said, with none of her usual spirit. “Today I think I’ll just curl up with a book.”

“Of course miss,” Dot said, smiling brightly to hide her dismay. “I’ll leave you to your tea, then.”

Phryne smiled at her young companion. Dot really was looking happy these days. Marriage suited her. Phryne supposed love could be like that when you found the person that fit.

Maybe she’d be that content too if she ever found what Dot had found with Hugh, but she doubted it. She’d spent so long avoiding that kind of commitment, it was hard to imagine what might induce her to it. The man couldn’t simply be handsome, she’d had plenty of handsome. He needn’t be rich, and he definitely shouldn’t care that she was. He should be kind, honest and steadfast, but not a pushover, and he must be clever and quick-witted. A dark sense of humor, like hers, would be welcome. He would have to appreciate her mind, and never try to hold her back or resent her intelligence. He should have broad shoulders and a strong jaw. Hair that fell in waves over his forehead when let loose, and soulful eyes the color of —well, it was immaterial what color his eyes were.

In fact none of it mattered at all. It was a ridiculous notion. Better she continue on as she always had, footloose and free to do as she pleased. It was who she was. It was what she wanted.

* * *

 

“What should we do?” Dot asked Mr. Butler, wringing her hands.

“Did you learn nothing new from her? Perhaps Hugh might know why the Inspector rushed off from the party and disappointed Miss Fisher? Maybe there was some kind of emergency with his work? Perhaps a murder?” Mr. Butler said.

“No! Hugh was home all night. If there’d been anything out of the ordinary, he’d have heard. Wouldn’t it have been nice if there’d be a murder? A murder might bring them together!” Dot said. She blushed. She’d have to say several Hail Mary’s to make up for regretting a lack of murders. “Or, maybe not a murder—but some other interesting crime—one where nobody actually got hurt,” she said, repentantly.

She went back to shelling peas, contemplating the problem at hand. After a moment she said, “When I spoke to Hugh a bit ago, he did mentioned that the Inspector is in an unpleasant mood. Perhaps he’s just as glum as Miss Fisher.”

“This has gone on quite long enough,” Mr. Butler stated definitively. ”Get hold of Bert and Cec, and can you get Dr. Mac on the phone for me as well, please? Perhaps you'd  be so kind as to distract the miss while I speak with the good doctor?”

“You have a plan?”

“I do, Dorothy. And don’t worry, no one has to die,” he teased.

“Shall I call Hugh too?”

“I think Hugh might be more useful to us if he is in the dark. I wouldn’t want him to feel his loyalties to the Inspector are being tested.”

Dot nodded. She was on the case.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack's friends put Mr. B's plan in action.

Phryne was still in her robe, not having had the energy to dress. She was gazing out onto the street from her perch on the window seat, a book she wasn’t reading lay open on her lap, when the familiar figure of Elizabeth MacMillan turned into the walk. She set the book aside and rose to go meet her.

“Mac!” Phryne cried in surprise, pulling the door open wide. Her friend stopped on the step and looked Phryne up and down.

“Do I have the wrong day?” Mac said. “Weren’t we having lunch? I wanted to try that new spot in Little Lonsdale.”

“Were we? I seem to have forgotten that entirely! I’m so sorry Mac.”

“No worries. I can wait while you get ready,” Mac said, pushing her way inside. Phryne shut the door, frowning slightly. She wasn’t in the mood to go out today, but she didn’t want to let Mac down. How could she have forgotten their plans? She really needed to get her act together.

“Well, make yourself comfortable in the parlor. You know where everything is,” Phryne said.

“Actually, I’ll go have a jaw with Tobias while I wait. Is he in the kitchen?” Mac said.

“Tobias?” Phryne laughed, her eyebrows shooting up into the dark fringe of her hair.

“You’ve been away, Phryne,” Mac shrugged. “Your Mr. Butler was kind enough to supply me with food and liquor on occasion. We talked. He’s a fascinating man.”

“He is that,” Phryne agreed, “Suit yourself then, I’ll come find you in the kitchen. Won’t be a moment.” She bounced up the stairs. Mac waited until she heard the bedroom door close, then hurried to the kitchen.

“She’s changing,” she said to Mr. Butler, “Thinks she forgot our plans. What do you want me to say?”

* * *

 Hugh was at the counter when Dottie came through the doors, followed by Bert and Cec.

“Dottie! I wasn’t expecting you!” Hugh said happily.

Cec set a small basket down on the counter, nodding to Hugh in greeting, the scents emanating from it made Hugh’s mouth water.

“I wanted to bring you a little treat, since you have to work a long shift today,” Dot said, glancing toward the Inspector’s office, trying to make out whether he was in. She could just see his coat and hat hanging on the rack. “Bert and Cec gave me a lift. I told them they could have a slice of my berry pie.” She turned to Bert, and said loudly, as if taking up a conversation that had started before they entered the station, “You can’t deny something is bothering her. You must have noticed it too.”

“Yeh, sure did,” Bert grunted stiffly, hanging back by the wall, a hand rolled cigarette dangling from his mouth, his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. Dot shot him an angry glare.

“Well, I sure know what you mean, Dot,” Cec said, picking up the slack. “She asked me about Alice, and when I said how happy we was, she patted my hand, all sad like, and said Alice and me was lucky to have found each other. It was right odd.”

“I just don’t know how to explain her mood,” Dot said, “She was so happy to be home, but now, she’s just not herself.”

“What are you talking about?” Hugh asked.

“Miss Fisher,” Dot said, nearly shouting. She’d noticed a shadow moving inside the Inspector’s office. It stopped, quivering by the doorway. “Something, or someone, seems to have her in the oddest mood,” she continued.

“Really?” Hugh said, “what’s wrong with her?”

“I just don’t know, Hugh,” Dot said, in some distress, “I think something must have happened at that fancy dress party. She’d been so looking forward to it and she looked so lovely in her costume. It was after that she got a bit peculiar. She came home very early and when I asked how it was, she said it was disappointing. She said a man had let her down. _‘Maybe he’s gone off me, Dot,’_ she said. When I asked who she meant, she shook her head and said to pay her no mind, that she was just being gloomy. The Inspector was at that party, wasn’t he, Hugh?” she asked innocently. From the corner of her eye she could see the shadow had not moved.

Jack hovered by the doorway of his office. Whenever Mrs. Collins appeared, it usually meant some delicious treat was on offer and he’d planned to nonchalantly stroll out front in hopes of snagging a bite, but he stopped when he heard them speaking of Miss Fisher.

“Yes, the Inspector was there. Do you think maybe he saw what happened and might know who it was that let her down?” Hugh said.

“Maybe Hugh,” she leaned in, as though she meant to speak in confidence, but didn’t lower her voice, “but I’ve been thinking, maybe it was the Inspector that let her down.”

“The Inspector? ” Hugh said, confused. “How would he let her down?”

“Yeh,” said Cec, “I don’t know Dot. The miss is so fond of the Inspector and they get on fine, even if he can be a bit of a cold fish.”

“I wouldn’t put it past Robinson to cause her grief,” Bert barked out in a loud, clear voice. “That stiff necked—”

“Quiet, Bert!” Hugh hissed, jerking his head toward Jack’s office. “He’ll hear you! And there’s no way the Inspector would let Miss Fisher down. Not if he could help it.”

 _A cold fish? Stiff necked? Is that they way they all saw him?_ Jack thought. At least Collins had his back. _Good man, Collins._

“Well, that’s what I thought, Hugh,” Dot says, “They’ve always been so close, and I’ve often wondered if they might not be a bit sweet on each other, but, well, he is a rather serious man, and you know how Miss Phryne can be. Especially at a party. Maybe he’s decided he’s put off by it all—her being a modern woman—I mean.”

“Maybe, but—” Hugh hesitated.

“What is it, Hugh?”

“Well, it’s just that the Inspector was really helpful when we had our—er, difficulties, Dottie. He told me some things about pursuing a modern woman, and how you working for Miss Fisher was making you one, on account of it rubbin’ off on you. There was something about a paradox, but It didn’t seem like he minded Miss Fisher being ‘modern’ and all that.”

“Really, Hugh?” Dot had been unaware that the Inspector had helped Hugh understand why she wanted to keep working for Miss Phryne after they married. Her affection for the man suddenly increased tenfold. She knew she had to do whatever she could to make him and Miss Fisher as happy as she and Hugh were.

“Well, then if it wasn’t the Inspector that she’s upset over, there must have been some other man. She only said that someone promised her a dance and then stood her up. It’s not much to go on, but maybe we should try to find out who this man is,” Dot said, "because if I didn’t know better, I’d say Miss Phryne is heartsick over him. Do you think there’s any way we could find out if it was the Inspector that let her down? Could you ask him about the party?”

“Oh, I don’t know Dottie,” Hugh waffled, remembering the look on the Inspector’s face when he’d mentioned the party earlier. “I don’t think he’d like us to get involved in Miss Fisher’s and his private affairs.”

“Even if it might help make them both happy?” Dot said.

Jack shifted slightly from one foot to the other. Was it possible Phryne was really upset that he’d left the party? He hadn’t imagined she’d care much. It was just one dance among what he was sure were many.

“If Miss Fisher’s got her panties twisted over some bloke, Robinson ain’t likely to care about that. And, it ain’t really none of our business neither,” Bert interjected.

Bert had developed a surprising respect for Robinson since he’d started working for Miss Fisher. The man was all right for a Copper, and Miss Fisher was good people too, but this was all bunk. He’d played his part, and was ready to be shot of it.

“How ‘bout that slice a pie we was promised?” he said, “we oughta be gettin’ back to work.”

Dot wrapped up a couple of slices of pie, and let them on their way, shaking her head a bit at Bert. He really could be so unhelpful at times, but hopefully they’d at least baited the hook.

“I’m sorry Miss Fisher is so poorly, Dottie,” Hugh said as he tucked into his slice of pie. “Do you really think it might have something to do with Inspector Robinson?” he whispered. “Because, he’s been in a mood lately too. Maybe they had some kind of a fight.”

“I think it’s possible, Hugh,” Dot said,.

“We should see if there’s anything we can do,” Hugh said. “If it will make them happy. They both helped us out before.”

Dot’s hand flew instinctively to the delicate, gold cross around her neck. She felt awful about deceiving her husband this way. He was such a wonderful soul.

“Have I told you how very much I love you, Hugh Collins!” she said. Hugh blushed, smiling shyly.

“You have Dottie. You tell me every day,” he said, sweetly, “and I’m the luckiest bloke alive.”

Jack made his way quietly back to his desk. He was too stunned to even think about that pie. Phryne was unhappy, and Dot thought it had something to do with a man at the party that had ‘let her down’ by walking out after promising her a dance. It was too much of a coincidence for it to have been anyone other than him.

He should have called her straight away to explain that he’d had to leave—Renson had practically ejected him—and he’d had no chance to even speak to her, much less make good on his promise of a dance. He really hadn’t believed she’d even notice, much less care. And to still be upset the next day? What did this mean? He tried to keep his thoughts from running away too excitedly.

He mulled over the known facts. They’d spoken at the party and ended the conversation on a very promising note. She’d been flirtatious and asked him to dance, which had been thwarted. Now, her friends said she was unhappy, not herself, and Dot had even suggested she might be heartsick.

Over him? It was too much to hope for. _And what did Albert Johnson mean when he’d said I wouldn’t care?_ Jack thought angrily.

Of course he cared. Did they all really think him that cold hearted? Phryne’s happiness was more important to him than just about anything else. If he could, in any way, make her happy, he’d move heaven and earth to do it. He’d go see her tonight. As soon as he was done with his shift. _No. Why wait? I’ll call her. Right now._

* * *

 

Mac and Mr. Butler heard footsteps approaching and when they drew near enough, Mr. Butler said, loudly, “Now, what is this about Inspector Robinson?”

The footsteps halted just outside the door, and he saw it push open infinitesimally.

“I’m feeling a little guilty,” Mac said, “I may have made an error in judgement, but I really thought she cared for him.”

“What kind of error?”

“Well, you know he and I cross paths, because of my work in the coroner’s office,” she began, “while she was away, I came to think he was making excuses to run into me just so that he could talk about her.”

“Really?” Mr. Butler said.

“Yes, it was rather sweet. We’d compare notes on stories from the letters she’d written us, and the Inspector just lit up whenever he spoke of her, which I enjoyed seeing. It’s nice to know someone appreciates her like that.”

Phryne smiled. She would have liked to have seen that herself. A besotted Jack was a very appealing image.

“I can imagine,” Mr. Butler said, “But why should you feel guilty now?”

“Because now it seems she doesn’t feel the same for him! She told me so herself when we had dinner and I’m thinking perhaps I should have done something to discourage his feelings. I’d hate to see him hurt. He’s a good man. He’s very well respected by everyone in the department, and one of the few among them that treats me as though I’m competent. I’d hate it if I contributed to his laboring under a false premise. I’m afraid he’s very much in love, and that she will only break his heart.”

This was coming far more easily to Mac than she’d imagined it would. Most of it was even close to the truth. Of course Robinson hadn’t sought her out all that often, he’s not the love-struck type, but their paths had crossed, and they had spoken of Phryne, and she was not imagining his attachment to her friend. Anyone could tell from the way he looked at her.

“I see,” said Mr. Butler. “He is a solid man, and I’ve often thought his affection for Miss Fisher ran deep. A shame she doesn’t return the feelings, but I doubt you could have done much to discourage him. When a man feels that strongly for a woman, nothing will change his mind. And Miss Fisher is a kind person. I’m sure she would never do anything to hurt him.”

“Not intentionally, but—” something that Mac believed to be the absolute truth suddenly occurred to her, “but, I have the notion he wasn’t hearing much from her toward the end. Some of things I told him she’d been up to were complete surprises to him, and I got the impression he hadn’t even heard—at least not from her—that she was on her way back.”

A rock dropped into Mac’s stomach. Maybe Phryne really was over any romantic feelings she’d had for Jack Robinson. Maybe this whole ruse was a mistake and they should just let things die a natural death.

“He hasn’t been by here at all to see her? She hasn’t invited him?” she asked Mr. Butler. The Doctor had clearly gone off script and Mr. Butler was a little confused, but played along.

“No, he hasn’t stopped by, and she hasn’t mentioned that she’s been expecting him.”

“Well, I really did think this time was different, but Phryne’s never been one for entanglements. Maybe it’s for the best that it didn’t get any further.”

Now they were way off script and Mr. Butler didn’t quite know how to proceed. “I wonder what’s keeping Miss Fisher,” he said.

What was keeping Phryne was that she was utterly frozen in place. She’d stopped at the sound of Jack’s name and had been astonished to realize that her best friend and her butler were discussing her relationship! Hearing that Jack had spoken fondly of her, and that Mac thought him in love, had her stomach in flutters. But, what Mac had said next chilled her to the core, mainly, because it wasn’t far from true.

She hadn’t written to Jack in the later days. But not because she’d gone off him. She’d just grown so frustrated with the lack of anything purposeful in his letters and she’d lost the ability to write him in a light and breezy manner. Each letter she started had sounded so pathetically angst ridden, as though she was begging him to give her any indication of his longing for her. She’d torn up more than she could count. Finally, she’d refused to behave like a lovesick schoolgirl. She’d given up on writing him and decided to come home, where she could see him, and they would be like they’d always been. But in her haste, she hadn’t even bothered to let him know she was on her way. No wonder he was so cold when she showed up at his office. Perhaps he, like Mac, thought her incapable of any lasting affection.

 _He must! It’s the only way to explain why he left that party without seeking me out. Even my best friend thinks me fickle and faithless, why shouldn’t he?_ she thought desperately.

She couldn’t let this stand. It had to be fixed. She’d catch hell, from Mac most of all, after so many years of railing against any form of attachment to a man, but people can change. Technology advanced, fashion evolved, why not she?

And Jack was an uncommon man. She wasn’t likely to ever come across his equal. He was a good match for her. There would be those in society that didn’t agree, but why should she care? If Jack loved her, she wouldn’t let trifling things like her previous, contemptuous attitude regarding romance, or other people’s outdated opinions, stand in the way.

She wondered if she could sneak out and avoid this lunch with Mac. She wanted to see Jack as soon as possible. She’d just begun to tip-toe toward the front door when the phone rang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to leave this one hanging, so I've posted another chapter today.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack come face to face.

Jack, with Collins on his heels, found himself walking back in through the doors he’d been so unceremoniously chucked out of little more than twelve hours earlier. He swallowed any bitter feelings. Leonard had been completely decent last night, Jack’s sore feelings weren’t on him, and while he was loathe to be back here again, this time at least, he was fitted in his armor and far more in his element. The maid greeted them, taking Jack’s hat and coat as Leonard appeared in the hallway.

“Inspector! Hell of a business this! Thank you for coming so quickly!” He bellowed.

“When did you discover it missing?” Jack asked as they made their way swiftly to the study.

“This morning, shortly after breakfast. Some of our guests stayed the night and wanted to see it once more before they departed. I opened the safe and it was gone! And I know I locked it safely away. You saw me yourself!” They turned the corner into the room, Jack’s eyes roamed to the spot on the wall he knew held the safe.

“Phry—Miss Fisher!”

“Jack!”

“What are you—”

“I had no idea you’d—”

“Good, you two are acquainted,” Leonard said curtly, rescuing Phryne and Jack from talking all over each other in dumbfounded surprise. “I called Miss Fisher at Mrs. Stanley’s suggestion. Prudence was here this morning when I opened the safe. She advised me to contact you directly, Inspector, but she also suggested I involve her niece. She thought it likely all of our guests would need to be spoken with, and that requires a delicate hand. She was confident Miss Fisher would be well equipped in that regard.”

Phryne gave Jack a look he would have interpreted as apologetic, if apologies came naturally for Phryne. As they did not, he was afraid he gave her a rather confused look in return.

“I’ve no doubt you’re perfectly capable of handling this yourself, Inspector, but, I’d be happy to led my assistance, if you have no objections,” Phryne said, obsequiously.

Jack’s confusion grew. Since when did she ask permission? Was this somehow to do with what he’d overheard? He was having a hard time keeping his mind on his purpose for being here. Her eyes were on his, and she had a most unfamiliar expression in them. She looked —unsure. Even nervous.

He was feeling thrown himself. The call from Leonard had come in just as he’d picked up the phone to ring her. He hadn’t been entirely sure what he planned to say when she answered, and had felt a little relieved to have been interrupted by Leonard’s call. Now he found himself face to face with her, and it put him off his game.

“Uh, of course, you’re welcome to assist, if that’s what Mr. Leonard would like,” Jack said, then realizing that sounded a little grudging, he added. “I’d —er—we—uh, the police—would be glad of your help.” _Pull yourself together, man!_ Jack thought to himself, _this is a crime scene._ He took a deep breath to steady himself.

Phryne smiled with relief. He was going to let her stay. She met his eyes and had an immediate physical reaction. Her throat closed and her mouth went dry. She looked away, at anything but him, taking an inventory of the room. The safe was on the wall behind a desk, its door open, the interior bare. When Leonard had called, she’d advised him not to touch anything, and it appeared he’d followed that advice.

The desk in front of the safe was solid, and ornate, oriental in style, with a large leather chair set at it. A rather nice Aubusson rug covered dark, walnut floors. She found herself studying a worn patch in the rug. It must have once been positioned so that the desk chair rested there, and been turned around to help prolong its life.

None of this, other than the open and empty safe, was likely of any importance, but it occupied her eyes and her mind and helped to calm her nerves. Jack was moving ahead in his methodical manner.

“Who knows the combination?” He asked.

“Only myself and my solicitor, in case anything were to happen to me,” Leonard said, he was highly agitated, blustering about and hardly able to keep still.

“Was your solicitor at the party last evening?” Jack asked calmly.

“No! He’s my solicitor, not a friend!” Leonard snapped, as though the answer should have been obvious. Jack was once again at a disadvantage, not knowing all the rules. No matter, he’d get what he needed by asking the right questions.

Phryne allowed herself to look up and watch Jack. She’d missed this. She’d missed observing him as he surveyed a crime scene. He was so quiet about it, but she knew he took in every detail. He missed nothing. He pulled on a pair of gloves and calmly strolled over to the safe. The confidence in his bearing was incredibly attractive.

“The tiara was the only thing in it?”

“Yes! Of course, man! You saw so yourself! Shouldn’t you be out rounding up known felons or something! Asking questions you know the answers to, seems a tedious waste of time!”

Jack wasn’t the least bit thrown by Leonard’s outburst. He wouldn’t be rushed.

“I’ll need a list of everyone at the party last night. If you could direct my constable to whomever would have that list, please,” Jack said.

“Miss Fisher has the list,” Leonard said, “As I mentioned, I believe she will be better equipped to speak to our friends.”

“And, as I mentioned, Miss Fisher is welcome to assist. I have found her help invaluable in the past,” Jack said, with a pointed look at Phryne, “but, I’m afraid there will have to be a police presence at the interviews. This is a crime, Mr. Leonard.”

“I assure you, Randolph, the Inspector is thorough and discreet. You are in very capable hands,” Phryne said. “By the way, do you have any idea of the tiara’s monetary value? Have you ever had it appraised?”

Jack knew exactly why she was asking. She was hoping to confirm her theory. If she was right about its value, or rather, lack thereof, they were being sent on a bootless errand. One Jack feared he’d have to expend far too many resources on, given Leonard’s connections.

“No, we’ve never bothered with an appraisal, I imagine it’s priceless! But it matters not, we never plan to sell it—too much sentimental value.”

“Daddy! Is is true?” Clotilde burst into the room, nearly hysterical, and ran to her father’s side. “How could this happen?”

Jack and Phryne exchanged an amused, and slightly exasperated look. All this fuss over what was most likely a stage prop was ludicrous, but, if it brought the opportunity to work together, Jack found himself ready to put up with a little fussing.

He took stock of the girl. Clotilde Leonard looked very different out of the Juliet costume. Not nearly as innocent. She was very young but the cut of her hair, short, and of a modern style, and her manner of dress pegged her as an independent and fairly forward woman.

“Are you just hearing now of the theft?” Phryne asked. It was past midday and, according to Leonard, he’d discovered the tiara missing shortly after morning tea.

“Yes,” Clotilde said, turning to Phryne, “I left the house this morning to take Peter to the train and then stayed in town several hours on a few errands.” Her hand was fluttering in front of her throat and she wouldn’t meet Phryne’s eye.

“Your fiancé has left, Miss Leonard?” Jack asked

“Yes, he had some urgent business arise that he needed to attend to. It will take him away from us for a few days, at least.”

“But, he was here overnight? What time did the two of you leave this morning? And where might we reach him?”

“You can’t think Peter has anything to do with this!” she cried.

Jack thought it odd that she jumped so quickly to that conclusion. His questions had been perfectly ordinary and had not indicated any suspicion. He’d be asking the same of every member of the household, and all overnight guests.

“We will have to follow up with everyone who was here,” he said.

“Well, I can tell you right now, he has nothing to do with this,” Clotilde said.

“And I can assure you as well, Inspector. Peter Miller could have no reason to be involved,” Leonard said.

“I don’t mean to be indelicate but you just said yourself that it is thought to be a highly valuable item. I believe your word was priceless,” Phryne said.

“Yes, but that would not matter to Peter! He is not in need of money,” Leonard scoffed.

“Is the young man independently wealthy?” Phryne asked.

“Does the name Carnegie mean anything to you, Miss Fisher?” Leonard said pompously.

“I’ve heard of Andrew Carnegie, of course. The wealthy American industrialist and philanthropist,” she replied.

“Peter is his grandson,” Leonard puffed, “it was something he preferred to keep quiet.”

Jack had been watching Clotilde. As the conversation had progressed, she’d grown increasingly nervous, her eyes growing wide and wild looking.

“Yes,” she said, stepping forward, blinking rapidly. “Peter was very reluctant to claim his ancestry. He preferred people meet him as his own person. He isn’t one to flaunt his connections.”

“Admirable,” Jack said. This seemed to calm Clotilde a little and she visibly relaxed.

“Admirable, or perhaps a part of his plan to avoid detection,” Phryne said. Her back was to Clotilde and she didn’t see how all color drained from the girl’s face at her words. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but I’m afraid Peter is not who he claims,” Phryne continued, gently.

“Not who he claims?” said Leonard. Clotilde, for her part, nearly collapsed into a nearby chair and Jack worried she might actually faint.

“As you may know, I just returned from a trip to England, and while I was there a story about Carnegie and his legacy was featured in the London Times. He never forgot his Scottish heritage and much of his philanthropic efforts benefitted the British Empire. The article spoke of his only daughter, Margaret Carnegie Miller, heir to his fortune, and her three children. Her youngest, and only son, was born in 1922, making him no more than seven or eight years of age today.”

Not for the first time, Jack admired Phryne’s nearly photographic memory. Leonard boiled, his face changing to an alarming shade of red, as he turned on his daughter.

“Where is he!” he thundered, “how could you have brought an imposter into our home!”

The girl was bent double, her face in her hands. Phryne immediately rushed to her side, placing a protective hand on the child’s back. Jack stepped between Leonard and the girl.

“I’m sure the young woman was just as taken in as everyone else,” he said, though he had his doubts about that. “There is nothing to be gained by recrimination. We’ll track the man down and determine if he is responsible for the theft. In the meantime, we’ll get someone in to check for fingerprints on the safe and I’ll set my constable to speak with any other party guests that remained after the tiara was locked away.”

“Why bother with that! It’s obvious what happened. That charlatan ingratiated himself into our good will under false pretenses and then took the opportunity to rob us of our most valued possession! Don’t waste your time on anything else! Find him!”

“But Father! It couldn’t be Peter! How would he know the combination?” Clotilde cried.

“He wouldn’t really have needed it. I’m afraid it’s a fairly simple, tumbler style lock. Not too hard to crack, to be honest,” Phryne said. She could probably have it open in a matter of minutes.

Clotilde sobbed and Jack, though not convinced of her complete innocence, was dismayed to see that her father did nothing to comfort her. He paced the floor, so wrapped up in his righteous anger and concern for his stolen property that he had not one ounce of compassion to spare for his seemingly broken hearted child.

“He will be found,” Phryne said, calmly “but the Inspector is right. The other guests must be followed up with, if only to discover what they might have seen. You must let us handle this. We will get to the bottom of it.”

“Miss Leonard,” Jack said, gently, “where did Mr. Miller tell you he was heading? Did you actually see him get on a train?”

“He’s —he’s on the way to—to Geelong,” she said, between sobs.

“If you could show me to your phone, Mr. Leonard, I’ll call ahead to Geelong and have the police there follow up on their end to determine if he arrived with the train.” Leonard led Jack from the room. Phryne made to follow, but Clotilde grabbed her hand.

“Please, Miss Fisher, you have to help me! This is not Peter’s doing.”

“I know it’s hard to hear, but he did lie to you. It’s quite possible that he—”

“He didn’t lie to me!” she interrupted. “I knew all along who he really was. The whole Carnegie charade was my idea!”

“I think you’d better start from the beginning,” Phryne said.

Jack made the call to the police in Geelong and set them on the trail of the missing Peter Miller, or whoever he really was, then returned to the study, planning to question the young Miss Leonard further.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Tilly,” he heard Phryne say. “I can’t keep this from the Inspector.”

“Can’t keep what from me?” he said.

“Oh, Jack!” Phryne said, glancing behind him to make sure he was alone, “I’m so glad you’re back without Leonard. Shut the door, will you?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deceptions are discovered and Clotilde pleads for mercy from a sympathetic Phryne and skeptical Jack.

Clotilde came clean on the whole crazy scheme. She’d met Peter—not Miller, but actually Claude Peter Thompson—in a pub in London. There’d been no Italian Pensione, it just sounded more romantic. Peter—who used his middle name— was born in America, but had been sent to live with his maternal grandmother in Scotland when he was fourteen, after his only remaining parent had died. The grandmother died when he was eighteen and he’d been on his own ever since. He worked as a mechanic, and was a whiz with engines. It was his dream to one day open his own garage, and he was working steadily and saving money toward that goal. He and Clotilde were madly in love, but she knew her parents, especially her father, would never consent to her marrying a man with so little money, and would not think a car mechanic any where near suitable.

“Why not just elope?” Phryne asked.

“Peter wouldn’t hear of it. Having lost his own parents, he didn’t want to be responsible for me being estranged from mine. He was sure he could show them that he could take care of me and that they’d eventually see we were right for each other. He followed me home with that intention, but I panicked. Father is so old fashioned! He won’t even let me work! I was so afraid he would chuck Peter from the house,” she said, her voice and manner pleading with them for understanding. “I’m not ashamed of Peter, where he comes from or what he does! He’s the most wonderful man I’ve ever met, and I love him with all my heart! But Father is so closed-minded. I made up the whole story of Peter’s supposed rich relations. Peter was so angry with me when he found out, but I convinced him to go along. I told him it was the only way, and that once they got to know him, they’d love him as much as I do, and then we’d tell them the truth. I’d heard of Carnegie and knew a name like that would impress my father, but I guess my knowledge was somewhat incomplete,” she said ruefully.

“This still doesn’t explain what happened to the tiara,” Jack said, patiently. The girl could talk!

“Oh God. I’ve made such a dreadful mess of everything,” she muttered. “No one was to find out so quickly! Why did father have to open the safe? I don’t believe anyone really wanted to see that thing again. He’s just so damned proud of it! Always foisting it on guests and expecting them to fawn over it!”

“Did Peter take the tiara?” Phryne asked, trying to get the ranting girl back on track.

“No! None of this is on him! I took it, but it wasn’t planned. It just came to me last night. A way to solve a few problems without anyone getting hurt. I followed Father when he was returning the tiara to the safe and memorized the combination. I had the idea of ransoming it and using the money to help set Peter up in his own garage after we were married. Father wouldn’t even miss the sum I planned to ask for. But, it wasn’t only for the money,” she said. “I’d hoped that, after a scare like this, I could convince Father it was unwise to have the tiara out in public, and then I’d be spared having to wear the atrocity on my wedding day. But, I didn’t tell Peter anything beforehand. Once I’d taken it, he went along to cover for me. Again. He’d do anything for me, but I swear to you, he knew nothing. It was my idea. It’s all my fault!”

“We can determine blame later,” Jack said. “Does Peter have the tiara now?”

She nodded. “You must think I’m an imbecile,” she said, defeated. “I’m not a foolish person. Ask any of my friends. I should never have come home! I don’t know what comes over me here. I turn into someone I don’t even recognize.”

“Where is Peter, Miss Leonard? I’m guessing not Geelong,” Jack said, gently. The girl was a wreck.

“No. He’s still in town. In a hotel. I just left him. We—spent the morning together. I’ll tell you where to find him, but please, don’t tell my father what I’ve done!”

“I don’t see how—” Jack began,

“Jack,” Phryne said, stepping up to him and placing her hand on his chest. It was like a shock to his system. It was their first physical contact since he’d kissed her in that airfield months ago, and his entire body reacted with a violence that shook him. Their eyes met and he knew, in that instant, that she’d felt it too.

Phryne felt the jolt shooting through her so forcefully she nearly lost her train of thought. He was solid and warm. She could so easily let herself get lost in his eyes. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to run her hand up over his shoulder, around his neck and pull those lips down to hers. “Can’t we—” she swallowed the lump in her throat, “Can’t we at least give them a chance?”

“What do you suggest, Miss Fisher?” he managed to croak out. Whatever she came up with, it would likely cause him grief, but— what was it Miss Leonard had just said? That her lover would do anything for her? Jack was familiar with the illness. The least he could do was try to help out a poor sod who was similarly afflicted.

“You go, and finish up with Leonard, find out as much about the party as you can,” Phryne said, fussing with Jack’s tie a bit before letting her hands drop. “Find out who was helping, did they hire anyone or was it all their own staff?” she said.

“I do know how to conduct an investigation,” Jack groused, rolling his eyes. She waved him off, and continued, unconcerned by his pique.

“After that, you should set out in ‘search’ of Peter. I’ll get what information we need from Tilly, pick Peter up, and bring him to my house. Tilly, you’ll have to stay away from him. Remain here and say nothing. Jack, you can join me at home later to figure out the next steps.”

“This is your plan, Miss Fisher?” he hissed, wildly. “This is madness. I'm suppose to have my men doing unnecessary interviews, while I undertake a wild goose chase after a man we know is hold up in a hotel in town, and you’ll be doing—what, exactly? Having tea with our suspect!?”

“I don’t know yet! And, how many guests can it be?” she cried, irritably. “It’s really only those that stayed much passed eleven, when the thing was put away.”

“Well, how many was that?” he barked.

“I hardly know! I left soon after myself,” she snapped. “Tilly? how many guests stayed on?”

 _So, she had left early_ , thought Jack. Very shortly after he himself had gone. This was further evidence that he was the man she was upset over. He found that bit of information inordinately satisfying.

“I’m afraid it’s still quite a few people,” Tilly said, looking rather hopeless. If these two were bickering now, there was very little chance they’d help her. Suddenly she brightened, “but we can narrow it down! After he locked the safe, Father locked the study as well. I know because I thought my entire plan might be spoilt—would that it had been—but, he went in again, just before retiring to retrieve his reading glasses. By then only our closest friends remained, and he left it unlocked. Will that help?”

“Yes! We’ll only need to speak with those few people! How many is that?” Phryne asked.

“Less than a dozen, I think,” Tilly said.

“See, Jack! It’s already looking more promising!”

“I appreciate your optimism, Miss Fisher. Which of these ‘closest friends’ do you intend to blame for the theft?” Jack asked, dryly. “I understand your aunt was among a group that even spent the night. She’d be a likely candidate, don’t you think?”

Phryne frowned outwardly, while her stomach did a little flip. She loved it when Jack got sassy. How she’d missed this! But, he was right, they couldn’t pin this on an innocent person. She’d have to come up with something else. “Give me a little time, Jack. Twenty-four hours. I’ll think of something.”

“Phryne,” he said, quietly, “Why can’t we just get the thing back and be done with it? We know where it is.”

“Because Peter will be blamed for the theft, and that, coupled with his pretending to be someone he’s not, would guarantee Leonard press charges. Even if he could be convinced to overlook the theft, he’ll never accept the marriage of his only daughter to the boy.”

“I didn’t realize you were such an advocate for romance,” Jack said.

“It’s a fledging interest,” she shrugged, looking at him coyly, and watching as his features softened.

“Please, Inspector Robinson,” Clotilde begged. “I know you’re being placed in a horrible position. If it were just the matter of father’s approval, I’d run away with Peter today, but it's too late now. I've made sure of that! I can’t have him arrested for something I did. He’ll take the blame for me. I know he will.”

And now there were two of them, looking at him with pleading desperation. Jack sighed. A dozen interviews could be handled by Collins and himself, he could keep any other men out of it. He already had the police in Geelong chasing their tails. He’d have to come up with an excuse to call them off. He couldn’t believe he was even considering this. This was insanity.

“Twenty four hours. Not a minute more. Then I put a stop to this whole mad scheme,” he said.

“I could kiss you, Jack Robinson,” Phryne said happily. Jack gave a little tilt of his head, and quirked an eyebrow.

“Be careful what you say, Miss Fisher. I may hold you to it,” he smirked.

 _Oh yes, I’ve definitely missed this_. Phryne thought to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter today but the next one should follow quickly.
> 
> I've fallen behind on responding to comments. Free time has been limited and I've spent it working on the story, but I appreciate your reading this and the kudos and lovely comments! It's so nice to hear that people are enjoying my story! Thank you!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack comes to dinner.

Jack walked quickly up to her door. It seemed ages since he’d last walked this path. Knowing she was inside and expecting him had his heart pounding in his chest. Of course, this wasn’t really a social call, it was about a case, and he assumed Clotilde’s young man would be present, but he was hopeful. If he were lucky, maybe there’d be a few minutes when he’d find himself alone with Phryne and he’d be able to work up the courage to tell her what he should have told her long ago.

Mr. Butler greeted him warmly at the door, taking his coat and hat. “You'll find Miss Fisher in the parlor. I believe you know the way?” he said smiling, “And may I say, it’s very nice to see you here again.”

“Is that you, Inspector?” Phryne called. “You may approach,” she said, in a very regal manner. Jack furrowed his brow curiously, and walked into the parlor to find her, sitting—no, lounging—on the chaise. She was settled on one hip, an elbow on the back cushion, her legs stretched out and her ankles demurely crossed. She had her chin up, an imperious look on her face, and the grotesque tiara perched on her head. He wanted to laugh, but didn’t like to encourage her. They were in enough trouble as it was.

“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t taking our situation seriously?” he scolded.

Her returning look said she thought him a spoil sport. She unfolded herself from the chaise, removing the tiara, and depositing it on a side table, before heading to the drinks cart to pour two cocktails from a silver shaker. No doubt it contained one of Mr. Butler’s wonderful concoctions.

She was wearing those black trousers he was partial to, particularly for the way they flattered her backside. Her blouse was another favorite of his. It was made of some kind of incredibly sheer fabric. More a suggestion than an actual garment. Her lovely pale skin was visible through the gossamer material and he could see clearly the line of her clavicle, the round of her shoulder. The only thing keeping it from being indecent was an opaque, black underlay covering her more intimate parts. Still, the entire ensemble had the effect of igniting his imagination to dangerous levels. He ran a hand absently through his hair. She handed him a glass, and her fingers brushed against his for the briefest moment.

“Rough afternoon?” she asked. “You look a bit frazzled.”

“I’ve just come from seeing Randolph Leonard, and I had to tell him we had been unable to trace his future son-in-law to Geelong. He was not happy, nor will the Commissioner be when he hears, which he soon will, as Leonard made clear he’d be placing call to his ‘dear friend’ as soon as I left.”

“I’m sorry Jack. I got you into this and now you’re going to be in trouble because of me.”

“This isn’t on you, Phryne. No more than I suspect Clotilde’s paramour can blame her. We’re grown men, capable of making our own decisions. Though he can place some blame on his relative youth. I can’t imagine what my excuse is.” He met her eye over the top of his glass as he took a sip of the cocktail. “Where is the young man, by the way?” he asked, “I assume he came along with the recovered artifact?”

“Yes,” Phryne said. “He’s upstairs getting settled into the guest room. He’s seems a nice enough fellow. He’ll be down for dinner in a minute. I hope you haven’t eaten. I was thinking you’d join us,” she said.

“Thank you. I’d love to,” he said, “I’ve barely had a chance to eat all day.”

Mr. Butler’s cooking was just as delicious as Jack had remembered, and even the presence of a third person at the table did nothing to diminish his enjoyment at being there, seated beside Phryne. The young man proved to be interesting company as well. He was bright and articulate and seemed mature for his years. He was remarkably cheerful despite the hard life he'd lived. He had been mostly taking care of himself since he was a young boy. His father was one of the more than fifty-thousand American combat troops that hadn’t returned from the war. Even before his father had been drafted, times had been hard, and his mother had worked for years in a textile factory, leaving him in the hands of neighbors or on his own in their small apartment. She’d died of brown lung disease when Peter was twelve.

After bouncing around child welfare for nearly two years, his mother’s family in Scotland had finally been able to send for him, and he’d traveled thousands of miles alone, to his grandmother, whom he’d only known from photographs. She had welcomed him into her home, but she was already in poor health when he arrived, and he’d done more taking care of her than the other way around. There was an uncle that lived next door, who’d been in the repairs division of the Royal Army Ordnance Corps and he had taught Peter all he knew about automobiles. He found he was fascinated with engines and took to the work rather naturally. When his grandmother died, Peter decided to head off on his own and moved to London, where motor vehicles were plentiful, and he could easily find work. He’d worked at the same garage for nearly two years.

“And then you left your job to follow Clotilde?” Phryne asked.

“Foolish of me, right?” Peter smiled. “But, it would have been more foolish of me not to. Once I met Tilly I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I figured you must have motorcars here in Australia too, so I was sure I’d find work. The only problem was going to be convincing her parents that I’m good enough for her, which I’m not, but she refuses to believe it. I never should have gone along with her crazy plan, but when she bats those eyelashes at me, I tend to lose all reason. And now we’ve got you all mixed up in it too.”

“That was our own choice,” Phryne said. “We wanted to help.”

“And it’s awfully nice of you, but I don’t want to get anyone into hot water. Inspector,” he said, “I told Miss Fisher when she found me, that I’m ready to take the thing back and throw myself on Mr. Leonard’s mercy.”

“I’m not sure he has much to spare, so let’s hope it won’t have to come to that,” Jack said. “Give us the evening to work on it. Miss Fisher and I will put our heads together and figure something out.”

Peter sighed. “I don’t know how we’ll ever thank you. This is all absolutely mad. Please don’t think too badly of my Til. She’s impetuous at times, acts before she thinks things through. She’s got such a quick mind. She could do anything she wants, given the chance. She’s just never really got the chance. Her father treats her like she’s purely ornamental, and that her only role in life is to find herself a good husband, and what’s worse is, he seems to sap all the confidence right out of her.”

“And people think mothers and daughters are the complicated pairing,” Phryne said.

“I should have listened to her when she wanted to run away. We just want to be together,” Peter lamented. “We’re not off to a very good start, are we?”

After dinner Mr. Butler took Peter out to the garage to have a look at Phryne’s Hispano while Jack and Phryne retired to the parlor for a nightcap, and to discuss their next move.

“He’s a nice boy, don’t you think?” Phryne said.

“Yes, and you don’t need to work on me anymore, I’m already in this up to my neck.”

“I do appreciate it, Jack, and so do they. It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing for them,” she said.

“What makes you think I’m doing it for them?” he asked.

“Aren’t you?” she said, with a small smile.

“In part,” he conceded. “But I hope he knows what he’s in for. An impetuous woman with a clever mind is a dangerous combination.”

“But, worth the headaches?” she asked.

“Always.”

Jack told Phryne everything he’d been able to find out. None of the other guests had seen Clotilde or Peter anywhere near the study, so that was a break in their favor. The Leonards had hired extra help for the party. There had been four additional staff on hand for serving, on top of their regular cook and the housemaid. After breakfast this morning, Leonard had offered a second look to any of the overnight guests that wished to see his treasure, and that’s when they discovered it missing.

“I’ll have you know, your aunt did not take Leonard up on the offer," Jack said. "She said, and I quote— _‘I’ve seen that silly thing enough for a lifetime. I told Randolph that if he valued my friendship, he’d cease foisting it on me’_ — most of the others went along, apparently not as quick to offend their host as your aunt.”

“Aunt P says that at her age, she can afford to offend a little,” Phryne laughed. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe the way out of this is to set Peter up as a hero. Perhaps, on his way out of town, he stumbled upon the thief and was somehow able to retrieve the stolen property. He could return with it tomorrow in triumph and Leonard would have to overlook the lie about his relations. What do you think?”

“It’s an interesting plan,” Jack said, dubiously. He leaned against the mantel frowning. “But who do you propose for the real thief? There was no evidence of a break in and we can hardly accuse someone we know is innocent. Besides, Peter is not suppose to have known the tiara was missing when he left town. Why would he be looking for it?”

“Oh, you’re right. This is dismal, isn't it?” She said, coming to stand at his side. “I should never have gotten us into this.”

“You’re not giving up already?” Jack said. “That’s not the Phryne Fisher I remember. And, along those lines, tonight has made me remember a few other things as well. I’ve remembered how much I enjoy this. Being here with you, going over a case—even a ridiculous case like this one.”

“I enjoy it too,” she said. “We have fun, don’t we?”

“Yes, but it’s more than that,” he said. “I didn’t know that it could be like this — the difference it would make having someone to share things with. You know how this job can be. Not all cases are like this one. Some of them are ugly and they can weigh a man down. You make things lighter, Phryne. You make it easier. Better. I missed this while you were away. I missed _you_.”

He’d dropped his head, turning it from her slightly as he spoke. He could feel her eyes on him, but if he looked at her he was afraid he’d lose his nerve. He took a gulp of his drink, letting it burn its way down his throat and give him courage for what he wanted to say next. What he needed to say. He steadied himself, getting ready to face her again.

“I love you,” she said quietly. His eyes snapped to hers.

“What was that?”

“I love you, Jack Robinson,” she said again, breaking into a wide grin, feeling light headed and slightly hysterical. “Ha! What do think of that!?”

“Well, I—” he was stunned. Speechless. He scarcely believed what he’d heard, but when he looked in her eyes, he knew she was sincere. “I hardly know what to say, other than— I love you too.”

“Do you? Do you really love me, Jack? Say it again,” she said.

“I love you, Phryne Fisher. I have for a long time now, and I’ll tell you a hundred times over, but at the moment, I’m rather angry with you,” he said, although the smile on his face told otherwise.

“Angry? Why?” she asked.

“Because, here I was, working up the nerve to tell you how desperately I love you, and you beat me to it.”

“I don’t recall saying anything about being desperate,” she teased. “That isn’t really my style, Jack. I might say I’m desperately fond of these shoes, or desperately hungry, but not desperately in love.”

He took the drink from her hand and set both their glasses aside. “How about you don’t say anything at all for awhile.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her close and made sure her mouth was otherwise occupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post a second chapter today rather than leave this hanging.


	11. Chapter 11

Mr. Butler entered the parlor to find Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson wrapped around each other in a very ardent embrace.

 _*Ahem*_ “Pardon the intrusion, miss,” he said, then waited a moment for them to disentangle themselves. The Inspector turned slightly to nod quickly at him before turning his back. “I thought you’d like to know that our guest has retired for the evening,” Mr. Butler continued.

“Oh! Yes. Thank you, Mr. B.”

Mr. Butler smiled, she looked ruffled, and incredibly happy, and it warmed his heart.

“Is there anything else you’ll be needing from me?” he said.

“No. No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “The Inspector and I will be some time longer here—working on the case—but there’s no need for you to wait up. We can fend for ourselves, should we require anything.”

“Very good, miss. I’ll leave you to it,” he said, backing out and closing the door behind him.

“I feel like I’ve just been caught out by my parents,” Jack said, “I’ll never be able to look that man in the eye again!”

“For goodness sake, Jack, we were just kissing. It’s not like he caught us in a state of undress!” She ran her hands up his chest and pushed his jacket down off his shoulders, “Speaking of which, won’t you be more comfortable without this?”

He shrugged the coat off, then folded it neatly and hung in over the back of a nearby chair. She took his hand and led him to the chaise, sitting down and pulling him to sit beside her. She still held on to his hand, and pulled it into her lap, tracing his palm lightly with her fingers.

“I was so afraid I’d ruined everything by going away,” she said. “I thought perhaps I hadn’t been clear enough, or that you’d changed your mind.”

“You didn’t ruin anything. I’m to blame with my cowardly, anemic correspondence. I should have been writing every day of how very much you were missed.”

“Tell me now,” she said, turning to him expectantly.

“You want to know what I missed while you were away?” he tilted his head as though giving it great thought. “Well, first of all, I kept expecting you to turn up at my crime scenes. I have to say, the lack of interruptions and second guessing was refreshing, but, my cold sandwich suppers got old quickly. They were pathetic compared to Mr. Butler’s fine cooking, and don’t get me started on my lonely nightcaps. Your whisky is far superior to mine.”

“It’s your turn to stop talking, Jack,” she said, flatly. “I much preferred what you were doing with your tongue earlier.”

She rose up onto her knees, at his side, wrapped her arms around his neck and went to straddle his lap. He brought his legs up on to the chaise, extending them in front of him to allow her to settle onto his thighs.

He’d always thought a chaise lounge to be a rather impractical piece of furniture, but he was beginning to see they had their uses. In fact, as she pulled herself tight to him, kissing him passionately, he began to think this might be his favorite piece of furniture of all time. He spread his hands over her back, holding her fast. Their kisses grew in intensity and he slid his hands down to grasp her firm bottom and press her to him. It occurred to him that he now had one more reason to like it when she wore trousers. She made a small movement with her hips, and he stopped thinking all together.

When his brain returned, she was kissing his neck. Somehow, his tie was missing, his waistcoat open and several buttons of his shirt undone. He slid his hands out from under her blouse—her skin was like warm silk— placed them gently on either side of her face, and pulled her up to look in her eyes. She was flushed, her lips a little swollen, her eyes dark and smoldering. She was breathtaking.

“You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?” he said, never taking his eyes from hers. He traced her jaw with his fingertips, letting them trail down her throat and onto her chest, following the lines of her blouse to where it ended at her cleavage. “Not that I’m complaining.” His voice was so low it was barely audible.

She took his hand and placed it over her breast, pressing it to her and arching into his touch. Her other hand tangled up into his hair, and she watched as his eyes grew darker. She felt his hips buck against her as he expelled a ragged breath.

“I don’t mean to tease,” she said, a bit breathless herself, “I want you, Jack, but I’m not exactly prepared to have you right here.” He dropped his hands to his side and bolted upright, blushing.

“I wasn’t—I would never presume—”

“Relax darling! I just meant that certain things I need are not currently on my person. But, if you’d care to join me upstairs, that can be quickly remedied.” This statement did nothing to calm his agitation, and her hands were currently moving down his chest, to his stomach, and— He grasped both her hands in his, holding them still, and working to bring his body back under his mind’s control.

“I think you know that I want you, but we’ve already made some ill-advised decisions today—harboring a robbery suspect for one—we should be careful,” he said.

“You think this ill-advised?” she said, sitting back and looking very hurt.

“No! I misspoke,” He backpedaled rapidly, this was no time for any miscommunication. “This isn’t a mistake,” he said firmly. “And telling you that I love you was long overdue, but are you sure, Phryne?”

“Of course I’m sure. I want you, Jack.” She looked into his eyes. Her reply clearly didn't disappoint, but neither had it answered his question. “Oh. You mean, am I sure that I love you,” she said.

“Yes,” he admitted. Nothing she said now would cause him to back away, he just needed to be sure of what he was heading in to. “I’d have thought you’d have some serious reservations about that kind of thing.”

“Actually, so would I, but it seems that, _‘I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest,'"_  she said. She looked happy, and though the words were not her own, she seemed utterly free from pretense.

“Quoting Shakespeare, Miss Fisher?” he smiled, raising an eyebrow and settling his hands on her hips. “That’s my move.”

“One that’s served you well, but I’m hoping you have others up your sleeve.”

“Oh, I do. And I look forward to showing you. In time,” he said, “but, don’t we have a rather large issue that needs our attention?”

“Clearly,” she said, looking down at his lap, “but when I try to suggest dealing with it, you keep putting me off!”

“Good God, woman! You are incorrigible,” he laughed. “We promised we’d find a solution for our star-crossed lovers. I’m going to have a very angry Randolph Leonard and my boss breathing down my neck in the morning, and while I’ve no doubt you could make me forget all of that in an instant, that won’t make the problem go away.”

She pulled herself from his lap, settling in at his side as he wrapped an arm around her. “Must you always be so noble and sensible?” she pouted, running a hand inside his open shirt.

“Not always,” he promised, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “but we’ve got time. Haven’t we?”

“Oodles,” she said. She’d waited long enough for him, there was no need to rush. They lay there in silence for awhile, each lost in their own thoughts, as she caressed his chest, and his hand trailed absently up and down her arm.

How to return the tiara without blaming Peter for its theft was the first issue. The second being helping the young couple get passed Leonard’s prejudice against their marriage. And the faster they solved this problem the better, as far as Phryne was concerned, but she was at a loss as to where to begin.

“Maybe we’re over-thinking this,” Jack said, at last.

“How so?”

“Well, I like your idea of trying to make Peter out as a hero, and that might not be as hard as I first thought,” he said. “Randolph Leonard is a man that believes a hunk of junk is a priceless artifact, and readily fell for the idea that Peter was the grandson of an internationally known industrialist.”

“What’s your point?” she asked.

“He seems to be a gullible soul,” Jack said, looking at her with a glint in his eye. She sat up, smiling brightly.

“I do like the way your mind works, Inspector!”

* * *

 

They spent the next few hours planning, which included quite a lot of laughter, and several delays to engage in some more pashing. It was very late by the time Phryne saw Jack out, and headed upstairs to bed. There was something wonderful about kissing him goodnight and closing the door behind him, knowing she’d see him tomorrow, and that they had many days and nights ahead of them. She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt this happy.

It had surprised her when she’d heard those words slip from her mouth, and while it certainly wasn’t the first time she’d told someone that she loved them, this was different. The way she loved Jack was without precedent. He was her friend, her partner, her solid foundation, and she his.

Not that she didn’t want him. She wanted him, all right. In fact it was a physical ache, a need so overwhelming it sometimes threatened to swamp her. Yet, she’d been content to lay in his arms tonight, kissing and caressing. The waiting was a sweet torture, but she could handle it, now that she knew it wasn’t forever. Now that she knew he loved her too.

Just yesterday, when she was unsure of how he felt, it had been unbearable. The chasm between them seemingly insurmountable. Now that they’d spoken their love out loud, it all seemed so simple. Of course they loved each other. It could hardly be otherwise. She drifted off to sleep wondering what all the fuss was about, and why she’d ever been afraid of this.


	12. Chapter 12

As Jack drove toward the Leonard’s estate early the next morning he wondered how in the hell he’d gotten himself into this. The plan he was hurtling headlong to put in place was, perhaps, the most idiotic one they could have possibly come up with. He could not only lose his job over this, but he’d be drummed out in disgrace if it all unraveled. His past successes would be forgotten as he became a laughing stock—a punchline.

Who would he be without his career? What would he do? How had he ever thought this idea had even the remotest chance at success? He blamed the lack of blood his brain had been receiving at the time of its inception.

She’d said she loved him. Phryne loved him. He still hardly dared believe it. Even harder to believe was how easily they’d fallen into it. Other than that moment with Mr. Butler, there was very little awkwardness, it felt natural. Right. It had also felt fantastic. He remembered the light in her eyes, the incredible smoothness of her skin, her taste on his tongue, and her touch. Her hands had left indelible impressions on his skin, invisible to all but him, and he knew he’d been forever marked.

It had taken all of his considerable willpower to keep from carrying her upstairs and ravishing her. But, getting out of this situation had to take priority. He hoped they could pull this off, and continue their work together on more important investigations. Even if they failed today, and what came next was loss of job, humiliation, or both, he hoped what they’d begun last night would continue. He could take just about anything if he had her at his side.

If this exploded in their faces, maybe they should just take off for an extended vacation until it the smoke cleared, and then come home and set up as dueling private detectives who shared an office. Or, they could not come home at all. They’d pop back to visit friends in between trips to exotic locations where they’d see the sights by day and fall into bed together at night—and stay there late into the morning. The occasional mid-afternoon romp wasn’t off the table either, because, honestly, what sight could possibly compare to a naked Phryne Fisher?

Jack pulled up in front of the Leonard home to see Phryne’s Hispano pulling to the curb simultaneously. It felt like old times.

“Good morning, Jack!”

“Miss Fisher,” he nodded, his face was impassive, but his eyes were smiling at her. They fell into step, striding up the path side by side. The butterflies in Jack’s stomach multiplied.

“Are we sure about this?” he said. “It’s not too late to call it all off.”

“Stage fright, Inspector?” she asked.

“This plan is complete bollocks, Phryne. No one will ever believe it.” They’d reached the door, and she rang the bell.

“It’s a fine plan," she said confidently, turning to him and reaching up to straighten his tie. "You said yourself that Leonard is gullible. We can pull it off!” 

“We?”

“Well, you, mostly. For the moment,” she conceded, “But I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

The door swung open and the maid ushered them inside, then ran off to find Mr. Leonard. There was no turning back now. Jack stood anxiously, spinning his hat in his hands.

“Relax,” Phryne said, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be great.” They heard heavy footsteps approaching. “Showtime, Jack—break a leg!”

Randolph Leonard burst into the foyer. “Have you any news? Has my heirloom been recovered?”

“Not yet,” Jack replied in his usual, authoritative manner. None of the previous nerves in evidence. “It seems Peter Miller, or rather Thompson, did get on the train to Geelong, but he didn’t get off at the end of the run. We’re checking stops in between, but we have uncovered another issue. A possibly significant piece of information has surfaced and we wanted to keep you informed.”

“In speaking with the party guests, one or two mentioned a servant that doesn’t appear to have been hired by the outside service you engaged,” Phryne said. “I remember the man myself. I bumped into him while returning from the loo and wondered what a server was doing in the corridor so far from the party,” she lied, convincingly.

“How well known is your connection to the tiara? Has there been any recent publicity about it?” Jack asked. They already knew the answer to this. Dot had clipped the engagement announcement to save for Phryne, knowing the Leonards were great friends of her Aunt Prudence. It had mentioned both that the daughter planned to wear the tiara and that there was to be a large party in the young couple’s honor.

“Why yes,” Leonard said, briefly recounting the column that had appeared in the society page. “The general public is always greatly interested in the lives of Melbourne’s important families,” he sniffed. Jack and Phryne nodded gravely at one another. “Why is this of significance?” Leonard asked.

“It’s a distinct possibility that someone read that announcement, and infiltrated your home during the party, disguised as a server,” Jack said, “it would be simple enough for a professional thief to slip in unnoticed.”

“And an item of such incredible value would be an irresistible draw,” Phryne added.

“But that’s terrible news! How in the world is such a person to be found!”

“We have some places to start,” Jack said, doubtfully, “but, I’m afraid the more time passes, the harder it will be to locate the thief.”

“We must hope that we can find the person before the tiara is dismantled and sold in pieces. It is what most professional thieves would do to avoid detection,” Phryne added, which Jack thought both cruel, and a little funny, given the way Leonard swooned at the thought. Right on time, the phone rang down the hall. A moment later, the maid rushed in.

“Sir? It’s Miss Leonard’s young man on the phone, he’s asking to speak with you.”

“That flimflammer! Leonard roared.

“Let me talk to him, Mr. Leonard,” Jack interjected, as Leonard bolted for the phone, “We still haven’t confirmed that he isn’t involved, and you’re too close to this, we don’t want your emotions to spook him and send him running.” Phryne grabbed Leonard’s arm holding him back, allowing Jack to rush ahead.

“Stay calm, Randolph,” she said. “I know this is all very upsetting, but a man of your stature must set an example. You can’t go flying off the handle. Besides, I’m sure Clotilde’s young man isn’t involved. Leave it to the Inspector. He will get to the bottom of it.”

When they caught up, Jack was clearly in an intense conversation with someone on the other end of the line. That someone was actually Mr. Butler, since Peter had nearly fainted of nerves, and had found it necessary to hand the phone over, but no one other than Jack need know that.

“Where did you say this was—yes, I know the place—No, don’t risk it, you don’t know what kind of people you’re dealing with—No! Don’t do that. Call the local police—Well, then at least wait for me, I can be there in twenty minutes— No! I think it’s best if you— I do wish you’d listen to me—Dammit!” Jack slammed down the phone, “he hung up.”

“What’s going on?” Leonard said.

“There’s not much time to explain, but it seems your future son-in-law may have happened upon the thieves. Two men boarded the train after him and he heard them talking about what could only be your heirloom. He thought it crazy, knowing your heirloom was safely locked away, but even so, he decided to follow when they got off the train to see if he could catch a glimpse of the item they carried. Unfortunately he lost them in the crowd. They’d been talking about a particular address, but when he found it, they were nowhere to be seen. He decided the whole thing was absurd, that it couldn’t possibly be the same tiara. It was too late to travel on by then, so he spent the night, intending to catch the first train out this morning, but on his way to the station, he saw the men again.”

“How remarkable!” Phryne gasped in astonishment.

“Yes,” Jack said, blinking at her, “it is— unlikely. He’s followed them now to a deserted warehouse and was calling for your advice, Mr. Leonard, but, upon my having confirmed for him that your tiara is missing, he's decided to confront them.”

“Oh, dear!” Phryne cried in alarm, her hand flying to her chest. “He can’t confront those men on his own! It’s too dangerous!”

Jack snorted, then covered it up with a small cough. He thought she might be overselling it, just a bit.

“I told him that and advised him to go to the local police. He refuses to leave for fear he’ll lose them again. He says he'll try not to do anything until we get there, but if the opportunity presents itself, he plans to act,” Jack said.

“Then what are we waiting for!” Phryne said. “We’ll take my car, it’s faster. Excuse us Randolph, we must dash!”

They fled the house leaving a flabbergasted Leonard in their wake. Phryne took off from the curb at a rate that had Jack hanging on to his hat. They turned the corner and she slowed.

“You were fantastic, Jack!” She shouted in exhilaration. “I’ve said it before! You’d be marvelous on the stage.”

“Do you really think he swallowed that preposterous story?” Jack asked.

“Hook, line and sinker! He was riveted!” She said, throwing her head back and laughing uproariously.

They needed to be gone convincingly long enough to have met up with Peter and rescued the priceless heirloom, so they returned to Phryne’s to enjoy a leisurely breakfast, and recount the morning’s theatrics to a highly entertained Mr. Butler and Dot. Peter was a nervous wreck, unable to eat or sit still.

Hugh was present too, looking a little confused. Jack had wanted him here, to bring him up to speed, feeling it would be a poor return on his constable’s loyalty to leave him in the dark.

Jack let Phryne tell the tale. He still felt a little sick to his stomach over the whole thing. What he’d just done went against his very nature. He’d not only allowed a theft to go unpunished, but had actively participated in a grand deception to let the thief off the hook.

“So, it was all an act and the theft wasn’t real?” Hugh said, trying to wrap his head around the incredible tale. “Just to get Mr. Leonard to like Peter?”

“Well, the tiara was taken without permission, by the owner’s daughter, so, there was an actual theft,” Jack said, watching his constable's reaction. He really hoped he hadn’t lost any of Hugh’s respect.

“I know we bend the rules sometimes, sir. Like for the mother that’s given her husband a good walloping with the frying pan to defend her children from his hand, or covering the cost and asking the vendor to forgive someone that's starving and steals a bit of fruit from a cart, but this kind of deception? Is this right, sir?” Hugh said. Jack knew Hugh didn’t think so, but he was willing to give his boss a chance to explain, which Jack appreciated.

“No, Hugh. It’s probably not right to deceive Mr. Leonard, but I look at it this way,” Jack said, “The original plan was to hold the tiara for ransom, so we’ve actually prevented that crime. No one was hurt, the thief is remorseful and just wishes to return the item. I don’t imagine she’ll repeat the behavior, so I’m inclined to forgive this one slip into criminal behavior. I’d rather not see the lives of two young people ruined over an impulsive mistake. Perhaps, sometimes compassion should carry the day.” Phryne was nodding enthusiastically in support of him.

“Don’t forget," she added, "the thing is utterly worthless, which would have come out at a trial. This way, we’re providing Randolph Leonard with a fantastic story to add to its lore, and he need not be disillusioned by discovering it isn’t the precious heirloom he thinks it to be. Peter looks like a hero, and he and Clotilde can be together. We’re making everyone happy in the end!” 

Hugh looked thoughtful. Jack shook his head. Somehow she’d managed to make their unethical behavior —for that is really what it was—sound like some kind of benevolent deed.

“But, we are not going to make a habit of this,” Jack said, sternly. “I think it’s been long enough for us to have believably recovered Peter and the tiara. Let’s get this over with.” He turned to the nervous young man wearing a path into Phryne’s kitchen floor. “Are you ready?”

“I’m not sure I can pull this off,” Peter said.

“You don’t need to say much, I’ll do most of the talking—I do like a good denouement,” Phryne said. “You just modestly insist you did nothing out of the ordinary, like a good little hero. Think of it as one more small lie to ensure your future happiness.” She linked her arm through his and led him outside.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne, Jack and Peter return in triumph with the 'recovered' treasure, but will their scheme succeed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty long chapter, but I couldn't find a good place to split it, so posted it as one.

All the principals were gathered in the Leonard’s sitting room. Randolph Leonard cradling his much adored heirloom, Clotilde and Peter staring desperately at each other. Even Mrs. Leonard made an appearance, sitting primly near her husband. Phryne began her tale.

Completely in her element, she spun an elaborate fiction of imminent danger, bravery and physical prowess, her captive audience hanging on her every word. According to her, they’d arrived just in time to see Peter grappling with one of the thieves and they’d been able to swoop in and collect the tiara before it came to any harm. Unfortunately the thief managed to get the best of Peter with a cheap blow and ran off. Jack gave chase, but the thief was able to slip away.

Peter confirmed her story, reciting his rehearsed lines. He’d waited for the Inspector, as instructed, but when one of the thieves departed the warehouse, he made his move, thinking his chances best with even odds.

“It was foolish of me, and I’m lucky Miss Fisher and the Inspector came along when they did,” Peter said, nervously, his face devoid of color. All this lying was taking a toll. Hopefully, his uncertain delivery could be explained by the ordeal he'd been through.

“Nonsense! You had the upper hand, it was only our arrival that distracted you,” Phryne said drawing attention back on herself. “Really, Randolph, you owe this young man a debt of gratitude. He sought to protect your heirloom without a thought to his own safety.”

“My regret is that the man was able to make his escape,” Jack said. "It’s unlikely that the culprits will ever be held accountable. I hope you can be satisfied with the recovery of your stolen property, Mr. Leonard.”

He held his breath. If Leonard was satisfied, the case could remain technically open, but Jack could bury the file where it would never be found. If he insisted on continuing the investigation, there’d be trouble. Jack had no intention of sending anyone chasing after criminals that didn’t exist. If pushed to expend any more resources, he'd be forced to come clean, and let the chips fall where they may.

“Yes,” Phryne concurred. “The main thing is that a priceless artifact is back in rightful hands and undamaged. It would have been a great loss to the world if any harm had come to it. Might I suggest you take steps to improve your security? As a private detective I am familiar with ways in which opportunistic criminals might take advantage of holes in your precautions. I’d be happy to assist you in developing more dependable protections.”

Jack watched her working Randolph Leonard with a sense of pride. She was deftly turning the subject away from the dubious rescue, and focusing him on his beloved heirloom and its safekeeping. It was so subtle Randolph wouldn’t even realize they had moved on. A trick of misdirection she was very adept at. Jack wondered how many times she’d used it on him.

“Yes, Yes, Miss Fisher,” Leonard said enthusiastically. “I would be most grateful for your expertise. We have it back, that’s the important thing. Now we must ensure its future safety.”

“I’m happy to help in any way I can Randolph,” she said, generously.

“Thank you, Miss Fisher, and you Inspector, for your very quick recovery of my property,” Leonard said.

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Leonard. I was just doing my job” Jack said, that last bit rankling, “but it would not have been possible without Mr. Thompson’s valuable assistance.”

“Yes, Randolph, without him, I fear we’d never have recovered the tiara. However will you thank him?” Phryne put in dramatically.

“Humph, yes, well,” Leonard blustered, looking at Peter with distaste, “perhaps a small remuneration might be in order.”

“I don’t want your money, Mr. Leonard,” Peter said. “After all, we are to be family, and it’s only right to look out for family.” Clotilde moved to his side, taking his hand.

“You’ve behaved admirably, but I’m afraid we will never be family,” Leonard said firmly.

“Father!” Clotilde cried.

“I’m sorry my child, but the man deceived us.”

“The deception was mine, you cannot blame him for that,” she said. “He only did as I asked.”

“No,” Peter said. “I am equally to blame. I should have put a stop to it as soon as I arrived. I am deeply ashamed and very sorry for my part in the falsehood. I love your daughter and haven’t put on a pretense. I was truthful in all but name. Still, it was wrong of me. I hope you can forgive me and that you will give me another chance. I will take care of Tilly and be a good husband to her.”

“It is out of the question,” Leonard said. “You are not suitable for my daughter. Clotilde, you must see my point. He is not who we were led to believe.”

“He is the man I have always known him to be,” she said defiantly. “I love him and I will marry him.”

“You will do no such thing!” Leonard said, his anger rising. “If you insist in defying me, I will have to take drastic measures. Inspector, I want this man arrested for impersonation with intent to defraud!

“I don’t think I can do that, Mr. Leonard. I realize he lied to you, but simply lying isn’t criminal. There’s no cause for arrest,” Jack said.

“Of course there is cause! There’s been an attempted robbery!” Leonard shouted. ”That man planned to steal my daughter by marrying her under false pretenses!”

 _“Steal me!_ ” Clotilde shouted. “I am not a piece of property, and I don’t need your permission. I will marry Peter, whether you like it or not!”

‘Don’t be foolish, girl. He has nothing. How will you live?” Leonard said.

“Peter is a genius with cars. He’s going to have his own garage one day. And I can work too,” she insisted. She turned to her fiancé, “Peter, let’s go, I won’t listen to this any longer.”

“If you walk out of this house, you will never be welcome in it again!”

“If that is your wish, Father,” she said, shaking with fury and heading for the door.

Mrs. Leonard, who had until this moment sat quietly, got to her feet. “Enough!” she shouted. All eyes turned to her. “She is my daughter too, Randolph, and this is _my_ home. I’ve never lorded that fact over you, I’ve always allowed you to act as the master of your domain, but I will not allow you to banish our daughter. I’d see you leave first.”

“Please,” Peter said. “If anyone is leaving, it is me. I won’t be the cause of a rift between you. I understand your anger. I’ve trespassed on your hospitality long enough. I’ll find myself a room in town.”

“I’m going with you,” Clotilde said.

“No. Family is important, Tilly. I don’t want to see you fall out with your parents,” he said. “I am very sorry to have mislead you. I made a grave mistake, but I love your daughter, and as long as she continues to wish it, I intend to marry her. I believe I’ll be able to find a good job, and I’m a hard worker. She will be well taken care of. I hope you will give me the opportunity to regain your trust, because I would very much like your blessing of our union.”

“We don’t need their blessing,” Clotilde said. “We—”

“Tilly,” Mrs. Leonard said, talking over her daughter. “Your young man has had the decency to take responsibility for his actions and apologize. I know you, my child, and I’ve no doubt it is true when you say this entire scheme was your idea. If we are to move passed this, you’d be well served to follow his example and apologize as well.”

“Penelope!” Randolph Leonard raved, “you’re not thinking of allowing this relationship to continue?! He’s a car mechanic!”

“What of it?” she said. “It’s an honest profession.”

“Mr. Leonard,” Phryne said. “I’m sure you are familiar with my situation? The nature of my upbringing in a less than respectable part of town? And yet, you’ve always been perfectly welcoming to me.”

“But that is different,” he said, “You may have started out in unfortunate circumstances, but your blood was of royal lineage. True breeding always prevails,” he said.

“What poppycock!” Penelope Leonard, exclaimed. “No offense intended, Phryne.”

“None taken. I know you’ve met my father,” Phryne said, providing a small moment of levity.

“Randolph,” Mrs. Leonard said, calmly addressing her husband. “I love you—goodness knows why— but you have always placed too much importance on status.”

“But we have a reputation to maintain! What will our friends think?” he spluttered.

“I couldn’t care less, and I imagine most of them couldn’t either. Besides, Randolph, who are we? Your father was an apprentice clerk before rising to solicitor and starting a firm of his own. A firm you have been able build to even further success. Who’s to say Peter won’t be as prosperous?”

“Then, we have your blessing?” Clotilde said eagerly, “I knew you would see my side, Mother!”

“Not so fast,” her mother said. “I have no objections to your young man, though I worry that his love for you makes him too easily influenced. My larger concern Tilly, is you. I’m afraid you are not mature enough to handle the demands of marriage. If—at the first sign of difficulty— your instinct is to lie to try and have your way, the relationship is doomed before it begins.

“But you know how Father is!” Clotilde whined. “What was I to do?”

“You were to stand by the man you love for who he is, not ask him to hide,” she said. “Maybe this is our fault. You’re father has grown in pride over the years and I’ve been remiss in not challenging him more, but I thought that, by example, I’d taught you better. I’m astonished that you would ask this fine young man to pretend to be someone he’s not! Did you really fear that who he is wasn’t good enough?”

“I’m not ashamed of Peter!” she cried. She looked at him and for the first time she saw doubt in his eyes. “You know that don’t you? You know I love you.”

“Yes. I —I do,” he said, his voice cracking a little, “but maybe it’s not enough.”

“Of course it’s enough! I just wanted—”

“You wanted things to be be easy,” her mother said. “Life is not always easy, Clotilde.”

She had no reply. They’d made a plan, she and Peter. He would come home with her and meet her parents. They would explain to them how they would support themselves and a family. They would show them how right they were for each other. She’d ruined everything with her impatience. And now, he doubted her. She could see it in his eyes. He thought she was ashamed of him.

“Maybe we’ve moved too quickly,” Peter said. “When we met, you were away from your world. Maybe you didn’t to see how little I fit in with it until you were here, among your own people.”

“No! I don’t care about that, really I don’t. I want to be with you.”

“I’d like to believe that,” he said.

“Then believe it! I love you and you love me.”

“I do love you,” he said, “but, I think I need to take a step back. If we marry—”

 _“If?_ ” she said, distressed.

“Til,” he said, taking her hands in his, “I can’t marry you until I know that I’m the man you want and that I can make you happy.”

“You are. You do,” she said, tears streaming down her face. He gave her a small, sad smile. He knew she’d be able to convince him if he stayed. Not only because he wanted it to be true, but because she had a way of making him feel as though anything was possible.

“I think it might be best if I stayed elsewhere, until I can think things through.”

“No! You can’t leave, I won’t let you,” she cried.

“It’s been an emotional day for everyone,” Phryne said, “Perhaps now is not the best time to be making any hasty decisions.”

“Yes,” Penelope Leonard said, dismayed to see her daughter so distraught. “Please Peter, stay. You’re very welcome here. Tilly has alway been an impetuous child, she made a mistake, but I’ve no doubt her feelings for you are sincere.”

“Penelope,” Randolph Leonard interjected, “if the boy has changed his mind—”

“Oh shut up, Randolph!” she spat back, “ Can’t you see your daughter’s heart is breaking! You and your insufferable snobbery are as much to blame as anything else!”

“Please, don’t quarrel on my account,” Peter said. “Thank you, Mrs. Leonard, I appreciate your offer, but I really can’t stay.”

Tilly sobbed, and Peter’s resolve nearly crumbled. “Don’t cry sweetheart. I’m not giving up on us yet. I just need some time to think, and you should think things over too. Think hard, Til,” he said.

“I don’t need to think things over. I know what I want. Please don’t go,” she pleaded.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I must.” He let go of her hands and turned to Jack and Phryne, “Inspector, Miss Fisher, could I trouble one of you for a ride into town?”

“Of course,” Phryne said.

“Thank you,” Peter said. He’d already packed his things when he fled with the tiara the day before. His case sat in the hall where he’d placed it upon his supposedly triumphant return. He bent to pick it up. Clotilde started after him, but Phryne caught her by the arm.

“Let him go,” she said, “forcing him to stay won’t help. Give him the time he’s asking for, I’m sure you’ll be able to work this out.”

“Talk to him, Miss Fisher, please! Tell him it’s all a mistake! Tell him I love him!”

“You’ll tell him yourself, when things have calmed down.”

“Where will you stay?” she called after him.

“He’ll stay with me,” Phryne said, before he had a chance to answer.

“No, I couldn’t—” Peter began.

“I insist. At least until the dust settles,” she interrupted.

“There’s no sense arguing with her,” Jack put in, “she won’t take no for an answer.” He’d been quietly taking in the last several minutes, feeling ill at ease. It looked like the preposterous story of the daring rescue had been accepted, but nothing was turning out as it should have.

Peter looked back at Tilly as if wanting to say something, but then turned and walked out the door.

Clotilde collapsed into a heap on the floor. Her mother knelt down beside her, wrapping her arms around her quaking shoulders. Randolph Leonard sank into a nearby chair. He had his treasure back, the inappropriate suitor was out of his house, and yet, he looked perfectly miserable.

“Miss Fisher,” Peter said once they were outside, “I appreciate your kind offer, but it might be best for me to find another place to stay. I’m afraid I won’t be good company.” 

“I haven’t invited you to entertain me,” she said. “If you prefer, you need never leave your room. I completely understand the need for solitude, you can be assured of your privacy. Please. I’d feel so much better knowing you are somewhere comfortable and safe.”

“You’re very kind,” he said. “Thank you.” She directed him to her car, asking him to wait by it for her, and walked with Jack back to his.

“What now?” she said, quite shaken by this turn of events. “I feel as though we’ve contributed to this. Perhaps if I hadn’t indulged Clotilde, if I’d made her come clean to her father as soon as she confided in me—” Her thought trailed off.

“You were trying to help,” he said.

“Was I? Or did I just got caught up in the game?”

“We meant no harm, Phryne. Besides, maybe slowing things down a bit is for the best. Perhaps Clotilde really does harbor concerns for the differences in their social status and was too caught up in her attraction to Peter to have realized it before,” Jack said. “Look at the home she grew up in, the life she has led. Can she really be happy as the wife of a car mechanic?”

“I don’t see why that should matter,” Phryne said, “I believe she loves the boy.”

“Yes, but it is one things to love in private, away from daily life. It’s another to proclaim those feelings in public. The two of them are from different worlds and when he arrived in hers, she felt the need to make him out to be more than he was in order to impress her family and friends. I can understand his hesitation.”

“Can you?” she said, wondering if they were still speaking only about Clotilde and Peter. “It’s all just trappings, you know. Of course, having money is better than not having it, but these social expectations and arbitrary rules—they’re not important,” she said.

“Easy enough to say when you have both the money and the acceptance,” he replied in a pensive tone that concerned her. “I should head to the station now, where I’ll be writing what will most likely be the least detailed report of my life,” he said.

“And I must attend to my houseguest. Will I see you later?” she asked.

“Would you like to?”

“You know the answer to that,” she said, reaching for his hand. In the past, she’d have settled for adjusting his tie or touching him nonchalantly on his arm. The wonderful simplicity of being able to grasp hands without pretense wasn’t lost on either of them.

“I shouldn’t have to work too late. Shall I stop by for a nightcap?”

“I look forward to it,” she said.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication is the word of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two new chapters today.

Peter joined Phryne for dinner, but it was a somber affair. He picked at his food, and his eye kept wandering around the room, taking in the artwork on the walls, the fine china, delicate crystal and gleaming silver. She knew he was seeing it all with a sense of foreboding. He viewed this as Clotilde's world, and was thinking about how very hard it would be for him to provide this for the woman he loved.

Of course, if her parents continued to support her to some degree after the marriage, things would be easier, and her mother seemed inclined in that direction. But the father. And, there was always the possibility that Peter was the sort disinclined to accept any help. Phryne wondered how much of this the two of them had even discussed. The coming together of two individuals suddenly seemed a most complicated prospect.

“Have you looked into finding work since you arrived?” she asked in what she hoped was a casual tone.

“No. What with the false claim that I was independently wealthy, there really wasn’t the opportunity to go job seeking. Clotilde thought it would give away the game,” he said, ruefully.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding work. In fact, I can speak to the garage I use for my motorcar. Mr. Butler does some of the routine maintenance for me, but there are times when even his expertise isn’t enough. I’m sure they’d be glad to have you.”

“You’re very kind, but I think this is something I should do on my own.”

“That’s shortsighted of you. You are new here and I have connections. There is no harm in letting people help you,” she said. “You’ll still have to earn your spot. They won’t take you on based on my word alone. I’m simply offering to make the introduction.”

“You're right. I'd be foolish to refuse your help. I just don’t want to put you out. You’ve done so much for me already.”

He gave her the first smile she’d seen from him all night. It was a small one, but it was a start. Mr. Butler entered to serve dessert and pour the coffee.

“This isn’t how it was suppose to be,” Peter said. “We were going to tell her parents of our plan to marry, but I was going to find a job first. Get myself settled, so that they could see I was serious, and that we could make a go of it. By the time I got here, she’d already built me up to her parents as this wealthy man with a sophisticated past. Do you think that’s what she really wants, Miss Fisher? Because, it doesn’t matter how hard I work, I’ll never be that.”

Phryne wanted to say something reassuring, but she found herself at a loss. She didn’t really know Clotilde well, or how she would handle the inevitable challenges. There would be those in her circle that would shun her after the marriage. And even among those that didn’t abandon her, there would some who would never accept Peter as an equal. It was nonsensical in this day and age, and things were slowly changing, but they would face plenty of prejudice.

“I’ve never been married,” she began, unsure of where she was going, “but it seems to me that if you love each other—”

“If I may interject,” Mr. Butler said. “I’m afraid I’ve overheard a bit of the conversation, and as someone that looks back very fondly on his marriage, and considers it a success, I hope you’ll allow me to offer a bit of advice.”

“Please do,” Phryne replied, grateful for the rescue.

“Communication is crucial to any successful partnership. Love will only get you so far. If you can’t speak your mind openly, tell your partner what you need, and trust them to do the same, you’re setting yourself up for difficulties. Neither of you will always get exactly what you want, but hopefully, if you’re open with each other, you’ll be able to get, and give, what each of you need. You must be honest in your expectations. Both of you. The person you should be asking these questions of, is your young lady,” he said.

“I’m not sure how to begin,” Peter said, "and more than a little afraid to hear her answers."

“Well, I don’t recommend beginning tonight,” Phryne said. “Sleep on it. Let the storm clouds pass and look on it in the morning with fresh eyes.”

“That’s good advice, though I don’t know how much I’ll sleep. I hope I’m not being too dull a houseguest if I beg off for the rest of the evening. Dinner was delicious, but I’m afraid I’ve been poor company and I don’t see that improving,” Peter said.

“You’ve been fine company,” Phryne said, “Please don’t feel the need to stay up. You’re my guest and your comfort is what’s important.”

“In that case, I think I’ll retire to my room,” he said. “I have a lot of thinking to do.”

Phryne settled in the window seat to await Jack, feeling unsettled. Peter seemed without hope for a happy ending with Clotilde and Phryne could’t help but see similarities between that relationship and her’s with Jack. She’d never concerned herself with what other people thought, but what about him? His comments about the young couple being too far apart in upbringing to be happy, had struck a nerve with her. Did he really think her wealth and position set them apart? Did he think that she would want to keep him hidden away from that side of her life because some might deem their relationship inappropriate?

This was all so very new. It was just last night they’d even spoken openly of their own feelings. Was she immediately to have made an announcement to all and sundry simply to reassure him? It was completely unfair! They were just getting their feet wet, and she had no idea how this was done. She didn’t need the added pressure of his insecurities.

Or maybe it was the other way round? Maybe he was ashamed of her? She knew there were many people that didn’t take her seriously. They thought her work nothing more than a silly game played by a bored dilettante socialite. There were also those that thought Jack indulged her for reasons other than her competency. Did he fear those rumors would only increase if their relationship became known?

What was it Mr. Butler had said about communication? If Jack had misgivings, he should say them to her face, not cryptically allude to them under the guise of speaking about other people.

By the time she saw him coming up the walk, she’d driven herself into a right state. She’d told him she loved him and still that wasn’t enough! What more did he want from her? She wouldn’t indulge his apparently fragile psyche. His worries were his alone, and until he was ready to address them directly, she’d give him no leeway.

She moved from the window, grabbing a book from the shelf and settling into an armchair, tucking her legs up under her and opening to a random page. She heard Mr. Butler answer the door, greet Jack, and send him through to the parlor.

“Good evening, Phryne,” he said, his obvious pleasure in seeing her was grating, “I hope I’m not too late.”

“Oh! Jack!” she said in mock surprise, rising from her seat. “I’m afraid I was so absorbed in my book I didn’t hear you arrive!”

He came to her, and leaned in to give her a kiss. She turned her head, offering her cheek. He glanced down at the book in her hand. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, and his brows knit in puzzlement.

“You’re absorbed by, _Life Stories of Australian Insects_?” he asked. She looked down at the spine and frowned. She’d grabbed one of Jane’s old textbooks.

“Yes,” she said, her voice half an octave higher than usual. “It’s fascinating.” She tossed it aside. “Can I get you a drink?” She moved across the room to the drinks cart.

“Phryne? Is something wrong?” he asked. She was so stiff and formal. It was not the greeting he’d been expecting.

“Why would you think that?”

“You seem—not yourself.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m perfectly myself, who else would I be?” His welcoming kiss stilled burned on her cheek and he was watching her so intently. It was unnerving.

“Are you upset about what happened earlier? You’re not responsible for that,” he said, gently. She held out the drink to him, looking up into his warm blue eyes and saw nothing guarded, only genuine concern. Some of her anger ebbed away. “How is Peter?” he asked.

“He’s perfectly miserable,” she said plopping down on the chaise rather ungracefully. Jack came and sat by her side. She leaned into him, so glad of his presence at the moment that she forgot she’d been annoyed with him.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “It’s unfortunate that they’re unhappy, but perhaps it’s best that these issues have arisen now, before they got in too deep. Their circumstances in life are so very different.”

“You said that before,” she said, her irritation returning. “It seems to be of great concern to you.”

“I wouldn’t call it a _great_ concern,” he said, looking at her curiously.

“Wouldn’t you, Jack? You’re not worried about what Peter might be getting into?”

“I’m worried for both of them. They seem nice enough. I don’t wish to see them unhappy. Phryne, what is going on? I feel as though I’m missing something.”

“When you said today that Peter and Clotilde were from different worlds, you weren’t really talking about them at all, were you? All that talk about loving privately but not being able to be open publicly about their feelings. That was about us, wasn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think I’ll want to keep this hidden. That I won’t want people in my social circle to know about us. That I can only love you in private,” she accused. “Or maybe you’re embarrassed of me, and what our relationship might mean to your reputation?”

He shifted away from her so that he could turn and face her directly. She had her arms crossed defiantly across her chest as though daring him to challenge her.

“Phryne. We’ve been—well, whatever we are—for barely twenty four hours. I haven’t done much more than think about how happy you made me last night. I had a fleeting thought about what happens next. What happens when this becomes public knowledge, that’s all.”

“You haven’t been equating our relationship with Peter and Clotilde?”

“They’re children, Phryne. They’ve known each other a couple of months. They’re nothing like us.”

“But, the money and the status. You said—”

“You thought I meant you?” he asked. “Do you see us that way? As so— unequal?”

“Of course not!” she said, “but you have to admit, there are some parallels.”

“I’ll admit that. But, I’ve never cared about those things. If my place in society mattered to me, I’d have taken more care to cultivate it. I didn’t think you cared much either. Was I wrong?”

“No. I don’t care a fig about any of that.”

“I’m not deluding myself. I have a firm grip on reality,” he said. “I know there are plenty in the force that will question my relationship with you. There are plenty that already do. I also know that I’ll not be seen as a suitable match for you among your peers, but to be honest, that wasn’t high on my list of concerns, because I wasn’t really sure how far you planned to take this.”

“What do you mean?”

“We haven’t really discussed what it is we’re doing, and I’m not saying we have to right now. I’m perfectly happy to keep this between us, if that’s what you want.”

“You don’t want people to know about us?” She looked hurt. He went to take her hand, but she felt out of reach.

“I’m doing this badly,” he fretted. “I don’t want to hide this, in fact, a part of me would like to shout about it from the rooftops, but another part likes things the way they are right now. This is ours, and I’d like some time with it being just ours. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” she said, dropping her defiant stance, her face softening into a shy smile. “You’re saying you want to keep me all to yourself.”

“Exactly,” he said. “For now. Is that all right with you?”

“It is,” she said. She didn’t really want to share him right now either. She circled his waist with her arms and rested her head against his chest. “But, I’m afraid Mr. Butler might have a hint something has changed between us,” she said.

“I’ve been told he’s the soul of discretion.”

“He is,” she confirmed. “I like that it’s just us for now, Jack, but I want you to know that I don’t plan to hide this. I don’t do things by half. Not that we need take out an ad or anything—”

“Right, then,” he said, feeling a need to pinch himself to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. “I’d better go call the paper and tell them to cancel it.” She pulled back making a face.

“Be serious! Eventually people will find out. Will you be all right with that?” she asked.

 _Eventually_. He thought. _What a wonderful word_. It meant she saw this continuing for some time.

“Let me think,” he said. “Will I be all right with people knowing that I’m stepping out with the most beautiful woman in all of Australia? That’s a tough one.”

“Just Australia, Jack?”

“Well, there was this girl I once saw in France—”

“We have a recurring problem, Inspector,” she complained. “You don’t seem to know when to stop talking, and just kiss a girl.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talk, talk, talk. Jack's insecurities run in a different direction than Phryne initially thought.

They lay reclined on the chaise, limbs entangled, bodies humming. She hadn’t managed to get him quite as undressed as the previous night, but at least his jacket was off and his tie nicely loosened. The buttons of his shirt were open enough to allow her access to that magic hollow at the base of his throat. She let her tongue dip into it, then moved slowly, pressing her lips to the side of his neck, and along his jaw line, until she’d reached his earlobe She took it lightly between her teeth. His arms tightened to pull her firmly to him.

“Will you stay tonight?” she breathed into his ear. He made the most wonderful, rumbling sound.

“Don’t you already have a houseguest?” he replied, hazily.

“Yes,” she said, looking up at him through slightly unfocused eyes, “but I wasn’t intending you spend the night in my guest room, so I hardly see what that’s got to do with anything.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his hands moving slowly over her back, the wheels in his head turning so loudly they were nearly audible. She sat up.

“Jack?”

“What exactly is the invitation for, Phryne? Tonight only?”

“No!” she said, “how can you even ask that? I thought it was clear. This is different for me, Jack. We’re different.”

“I know that,” he said. “I didn’t mean to imply—” _I’m doing this wrong again_ , he thought to himself. “What I meant was—” he ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to ask this.”

“Just say what you’re thinking, please,” she said. She was beginning to feel very alarmed. Was he expecting some kind of permanent commitment before he’d stay the night with her? She saw them together for the foreseeable future, but he’d been married before, if his thoughts ran that direction, she didn’t know what she’d do.

“If I were to stay, do you see me as gone by the morning?” He asked. She nearly laughed with relief.

“Is that all?” she teased, “You’re worried I’ll toss you out once I’ve had my way with you? Really Jack, I’m hurt.”

She was also little taken aback. How had he known that was her usual modus operandi? There had been the occasional man that stayed the entire night, the rare one even joining her at breakfast the next morning. She preferred to sleep alone and most of the men were perfectly happy with that arrangement. Her encounters were mutual pursuits of an evening’s pleasure and not much more. With Jack, she knew it was another thing entirely. That knowledge was frightening, but also exhilarating.

“You know this is not usual for me, Phryne,” he said, a little annoyed by her amusement at his discomfort. “I don’t want to sneak from your home under darkness like a thief. I want to stay with you and hold you in my arms while you sleep. But, I’m trying to picture waking up in your home and sitting down to a breakfast served by your butler without feeling utterly mortified. And if I stay tonight, I’ll likely be facing your houseguest as well. Are the cabbies generally here in the morning? And, what time does Mrs. Collins usually arrive?” He was getting a little frantic.

“Relax, darling,” she said, the poor man was picturing a platoon’s worth of people marching through as witness. She ran her hands over his shoulders and arms until she felt his tension lessen. She kissed him gently, a kiss he eagerly returned. “There’s no rush. If I seem impatient, it’s only because I have been thinking of this for quite some time now.”

“Have you?” he said, his eyes darkening. “How long a time?”

“I think it dates back to my mentioning how much I liked a man with a plan,” she said, referencing something she had said the day—very nearly the moment—they'd met. “However, you looked less than impressed with me at the time.”

“Looks can be deceiving, Miss Fisher.” His wanting her might not date back quite that far. He prided himself on not viewing women as merely objects to be desired, and his first impressions of her, other than the fact that she was undeniably lovely, was that she was sharp. She’d analyzed that crime scene better than half his officers could have. It wasn’t long before his attraction to her grew into something more physically distracting, and he’d been fighting it for what he felt was an admirably long time. It was a fight he was now rapidly losing.

“I’ve thought about it more than I care to admit,” he admitted, “but I don’t want to rush things.” It was weak reasoning. Nearly two years of dancing around this was hardly rushing things. It wasn’t entirely honest either. He’d take her upstairs right now if not for the potential audience.

“So, is that a no for tonight?” she asked.

“Are you very disappointed?” He wasn’t sure if he preferred a yes or a no to that question.

“I understand,” she said, “but if it’s an empty house you’re waiting for, I’m a little concerned. I could easily send Mr. Butler away for a night, but I’ve invited Peter to stay and I can hardly rescind my offer.”

Leave it to her to see through him, and get right down to the practicalities of things. _In for a penny,_ he thought, swallowing hard.

“I do have a home, Phryne. Where I live quite alone.”

“Jack Robinson! Are you suggesting a tryst?”

“I —um, I—wasn’t necessarily—”

She giggled inwardly as his face turned the most delightful shade of red. He was always so stalwart and too often serious—though less so with her lately, she’d noticed. Still, seeing him flustered never failed to entertain.

“Don’t be shy! I’m dying to know where you’re going with this! I’m sincerely hoping you’re not just informing me of your lack of housemates,” she said.

“You enjoy throwing me off balance, don’t you?” he said.

“Small pleasures,” she shrugged. “How is it I’ve yet to see your home? I’m feeling quite put out to realize you’ve never invited me!”

“Then, allow me remedy that oversight,” he said. “Would you care to come to dinner tomorrow, Miss Fisher?”

“I’d be delighted,” she replied. “And, I do hope you make a good breakfast, Jack.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack have a date. Preparations and anticipation ensue.

It had been a mistake to invite her on the start of his two day break from work. Too much time to think and too little to keep him busy. He’d already cleaned the kitchen, including scrubbing the range, washing the floor and clearing out any foodstuffs in the fridge that had gone off. He’d buy things, planning to take the time to make a proper meal, only to end up eating at a pie cart or settling for a cold sandwich, due to his often irregular schedule. The result was that any fresh food, optimistically purchased, ended up going bad.

With the kitchen gleaming he moved on toward the bath, stopping as he passed his bedroom. He turned into it, moving straight to the bed, and stripping it before he could think too much about his actions. He sent his laundry out weekly, but he had a small utility room which contained a tub and a mangle for home use. His mother had insisted he know how to do laundry. His father had learned the skill, and when his mum had been bedridden just before the birth of Jack’s little sister, his dad had taken over the household chores, doing all of the washing, including his son’s dirty nappies. A story his mum repeated ad nauseam. Jack had been struck by how happy it made her, and how proud his mum was of his dad, for what Jack had thought a small thing. As he grew older he realized how rare his dad really was, and it was lesson he took to heart.

He rather enjoyed the process of washing the few things he trusted himself to do. There was an art to it, and he’d never attempt to clean and press his own suits, but bed linens and towels he could handle. The rote process of soaking in warm soapy water, rinsing clean, wringing out and arranging on the line was calming. Of course, he realized if he had to do this all day, everyday, it would quickly lose its appeal.

He told himself it was not presumptuous to be preparing the bed. He had no firm expectations, and she had every right to change her mind, though he hoped she wouldn’t. He was simply assuring that everything would be comfortable for his guest.

He hung the sheets on his line, well positioned in a sunny part of the garden, where they would dry quickly, and humming to himself, he went back inside to tackle the bath. Once that was sparkling, he took care of the rest of the place, throwing open windows, dusting and sweeping the floors. He hauled the area rugs out of doors, and once the sheets were done, placed the rugs on the line to beat any dust and dirt from them. After returning everything to its rightful place, he paused and surveyed his surroundings, pleased that the home was spotless and welcoming.

He headed out to the market to pick up what he needed for dinner—and a good breakfast— _which she’d basically demanded_ , he rationalized. The quick trip provided him with everything he needed for his planned meals. Again, he had his mum to thank for being able to cook. She’d taught him the basics and a few more sophisticated recipes as well. Tonight’s dish was one of his favorites and it wasn’t especially challenging. In fact, it was hard to mess it up, which was why he’d picked it. This was not the night to risk failure.

He chopped the vegetables, cubed and seasoned the beef—he’d splurged on a better cut than he’d usually use—and then browned it on the stovetop in the lardon he’d heated inside his cast iron pot. It had been a long time since he’d cooked for anyone. He’d never cooked for Rosie before they were wed. He was surprisingly pleased to be cooking for Phryne and proud that he was able to put together a nice meal for her. The meat was browned now, so he added the carrots and onion.

There were some other preparations he was considering. Something he’d seen done at a fancy garden party that he thought he could replicate, but worried that it might be too much. He didn’t want to overwhelm her. He opened the bottle of wine he’d bought for his recipe and poured enough into the pot to completely cover the meat and veg.

To date, he’d not been doing very well with expressing his feelings to Phryne verbally, tending to veer into teasing and sarcasm, when things got too heavy, and he’d been perfectly awful during the months of correspondence. His reticence then had left her unsure of him and nearly derailed them.

He capped the pot and placed it in the stove under low heat where it would slowly cook all day until the meat was tender enough to cut with a fork. The final ingredient, mushrooms, would go in shortly before he served. He cleaned them and set them aside for later. To round out the meal he’d purchased a loaf of fresh, baked crusty bread and a pie from the bakery.

He took note of the time so he’d remember when to check the dish again. The only thing that would ruin it now was if he let the liquid dry up. There was plenty of time left in the day for him to undertake his other plans, if he so chose.

He wiped up the counters, washed and tidied away the mess his efforts had made. He glanced around his small kitchen and the little, worn wooden table. He knew the dinner would be good, but not grand, and she was used to good cooking. His home was not as elegant as her own, but he knew that wouldn’t bother her. Those things never seemed important to her. Still, he wanted this night to be memorable. All of his efforts so far were perfectly fine, but not terribly special.

He wanted to put his best foot forward tonight. He didn’t want to hold back now, and regret later. He made his decision and went to gather together the things he would need to complete his plans. If he was unable to say it, he could at least show her through his efforts how he felt. Feeling more self-assured, a calm settled over him, his nervous anxiety giving way to anticipation.

He rapped his knuckles on the nearest table throwing up a silent plea that nothing would come along to disrupt the evening.

 

* * *

 

Phryne woke late. She got up, pulled on one of her lovely dressing gowns and padded to the kitchen. To her surprise, she heard happy chatter and laughter coming through the door.

“Good morning,” she said amiably.

A startled Dot popped up from her seat at the table, where she’d been conversing with Peter. Mr. Butler stood nearby, a tea towel in his hand.

“Miss! I didn’t hear you ring!” Dot cried, “I’m so sorry, we’ll have your tea ready in a mo.”

“No worries Dot. I didn’t ring. I wanted to join all of you,” she said. She sat down to await the arrival of the tea and toast Dot scrambled to make. “It sounded rather cheerful in here. What have I missed?”

“I took the liberty of bringing Mr. Thompson around to the garage this morning, as you suggested,” Mr. Butler said.

“Oh? Wonderful! Am I to assume by the high spirits that it went well?”

“Very well,” Peter said. “I’ve not only landed a job, but I’ve also found a place to live!”

“Yes,” Mr. Butler confirmed. “The timing couldn’t have been better, they’re recently down a man, and the owner and lead mechanic were very impressed with the young man's skills.”

“They put me through some paces too,” Peter said, “Asking all sorts of questions, and nearly had me take apart the engine of a motorcar they had in for repairs. Offered me the job on the spot.”

“Congratulations!” Phryne said, “but, what’s this about a place to live?”

“You’ll remember Joe, the lead mechanic, miss,” Mr. Butler said. She nodded, her mouth full of toast. Joe was the only one, other than Mr. Butler, she trusted with her beloved Hispano. “He and the missus have been living above, but now that they’re expecting their second child, they’ve found a new place. One with a little garden, and more room for a growing family,” he explained

“And they’ve offered the flat above the garage to you?” she asked Peter.

“Yes,” he said, beaming. “Plus, I’ll get a break on the rent, for opening and closing shop each day. It’s not a large place. Just the one bedroom with a small kitchen and sitting area, and some nice windows to let in light. It’s more than enough space for me and—another— if everything works out.

“Well, that is fantastic news!” Phryne said. “When do you start work?”

“Straight away tomorrow,” Peter said, “but, I can’t get into the flat until the end of the week—”

“Say no more,” she said. “You are welcome here for as long as you like! Have you told Clotilde?”

“Not yet,” he said, nervously “I’m going to call on her today. I’m hoping we can find some quiet place to talk things through.”

“Invite her here,” she said. “I will be out tonight, so you’ll be assured of some privacy. In fact, I’ve been called away on a case that will keep me overnight.”

“You’ve got a new case, miss?” Dot said excitedly. “Your first case since getting back! Is it an interesting one?”

“Yes,” she said, looking extremely pleased. “It’s a case I’m very much looking forward to sinking my teeth into, so to speak.”

“Will you need my assistance?” Dot asked, “I’m sure Hugh could spare me for the night.”

“Oh, well, I don’t think that will be necessary. It’s a small matter. For a close friend. Not terrible complicated.”

“Oh?” Dot was only momentarily deterred, she was sure there was some way she could be of service. “Well, when must you leave? Where are you going? Is there anything in particular you’ll need that I should be sure to pack?”

“You know, I’m not sure just what I’ll need. It might be easier if I pack for myself this time, but thank you,” Phryne said, why had she said she had a case? She should have just said she was visiting a friend. Dot was asking too many questions. As much as she enjoyed keeping their little secret, it would be easier when everyone knew about her and Jack.

“It’s really no trouble miss,” Dot said, “It’s my job. I’m so glad your back and things are getting back to normal!” she said happily.

Phryne tried to come up with a logical reason to put Dot off. Luckily, Mr. Butler came to her rescue

“Actually, if Miss Fisher can spare you, I could really use a hand today, Dorothy. I’ve been meaning to give the icebox a good defrost and cleaning, but that leaves me with little time for my daily trip to the market. Perhaps, you could do the shopping?” he asked politely.

“But, didn’t you already—” Dot began, swallowing her words when she saw the look Mr. Butler gave her. “Oh, of course Mr. Butler. I’m happy to help,” she said, returning his glance with sly smile.

“Would that be all right, miss?” she asked. “I’m sure I could manage both—”

“I won’t hear of it,” Phryne said. “I can manage on my own. It’s only the one night.”

“If you’re sure, miss,” Dot said. Miss Phryne would be suspicious if she gave in too easily.

“Absolutely, Dot!” Phryne said, definitively, “Well, I have quite a lot to do before my trip. Be sure to pick up something nice to make for Peter and Clotilde this evening. And, Mr. B, please select a lovely wine from the cellar for them—don’t try to argue with me Peter, I insist,” she said when she saw him begin to object.

“Miss, before I forget,” Mr. Butler said, “your Aunt called earlier. She would like you to stop by for tea.”

Phryne scowled. A trip to her aunt’s was not in her plans. She wanted time to have a long soak this afternoon. She also had yet to decide what dress to wear and, more importantly, what she’d have on underneath. She knew Aunt P wouldn’t be put off, so she’d just have to make her visit a quick one. Resigned, she rose for the table and went to get dressed. Peter excused himself a minute later to go and call on Clotilde.

“Miss Fisher seemed suspiciously cheerful this morning, and far too cryptic about her plans. And, I know you cleaned the icebox last week,” Dot said once the room had cleared. She looked pointedly at Mr. Butler, “spill,” she demanded.

* * *

Phryne pulled to the curb in front of Jack’s house at precisely eight o’clock. She really would have preferred being fashionably late, but she’d driven around as long as she could, having had to leave the house early to keep up the ruse of her out of town investigation. She’d packed discreetly, in a small bag that wouldn’t necessarily look like an overnight bag to any nosy neighbors Jack might have. She didn’t think they were doing anything wrong, but the sneaking around felt illicit, and was a little thrilling.

She’d chosen her wardrobe for the evening carefully, settling on an ensemble frock she’d purchased in Paris during her travels. It consisted of a sleeveless, v-necked silk blouse of soft, dove grey. It was perfectly demure in appearance but ingenious, in that it extended beyond the waist and ended in trouser briefs. This prevented it from riding up out of the charcoal, silk linen wrap-style skirt. It also meant it was a blouse and cami-knickers in one, thus eliminating the need for undergarments. When she removed the skirt, the resulting, lingerie-like appearance was very alluring. It was done up the back with dainty pearl buttons.

Over it all she wore a casual seven-eighths length coat, with wide sleeves and a shawl collar in the same charcoal as her skirt. She finished with a matching cloche and black T-straps. The look was sophisticated and elegant. She almost wished they were stepping out tonight. They’d look spectacular at each other’s side.

She stepped from the car and took a moment to observe the neighborhood. It was quiet, with small, well-kept houses and neat gardens. Jack’s home was one of the smaller on the street. A tidy little bungalow, with a green awning over the front window and a crimson front door.

As she crossed the sidewalk to his front path, a young couple, pushing a pram passed, and nodded to her in a friendly manner. It was still light out, the sun would not set for nearly an hour, but the day’s heat had given way, and a light evening breeze stirred the air. It was an idyllic night.

The door opened swiftly at her knock and she was momentarily thrown. It shouldn’t have been surprising, since this was a casual evening in his home. He still looked handsomely put together, but tonight he’d forgone the usual three piece suit and wore neatly pressed, grey trousers, a summer weight, cable-knit vest a shade or two lighter than the trousers, and white shirtsleeves. His hair was not styled as carefully as usual either, the sparing use of pomade having given his waves free rein. He smiled openly and it occurred to her, as it often did, that Jack was a remarkably attractive man.

“Good evening, Miss Fisher,” he said, raking his eyes over her in a way that made her flush. “You look lovely. Please, come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming next: the date.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intimate dinner date.

Jack shut the door behind her and helped her out of her coat. His fingers brushed lightly against the bared skin of her arms. She took off her hat and shook her hair slightly, releasing a burst of her subtle french perfume. This would not do. She was barely one minute inside his door and his blood was already thundering through his veins like Nightmarch racing down the home stretch at the Melbourne Cup. He took her hat, and stepped away to hang it and her coat on his rack, breathing deeply in and out to calm himself.

Phryne ran her hands nervously over her hair, making sure each strand was in place, then smoothed her moist palms over her skirt. She couldn’t imagine why she felt so jittery, and even a little light headed. She walked forward into the room, trying to take in Jack’s home for the first time. Her impression was that it was much like the man that lived here. Orderly and neat, but warm and homely.

“You didn’t have trouble finding me, I hope,” he said, rather stupidly, she was perfectly on time, so clearly there’d been no difficulties.

“No, not at all. You have a charming home,” she said, far too formally, and sounding too much like her Aunt Prudence for her liking. She needed to get hold of herself. “How about a tour, Jack?”

“That wouldn’t take long, I’m afraid,” he said. “You’re looking at most of it. Here’s the sitting room,” he said with a wave of his hand to the room they’d just stepped into, “and the kitchen is through that door.” He indicated a swinging door to their left.

“And, what’s down there?” she asked innocently, craning her head to look down the hallway she presumed led to the bedroom.

“The bath is down that hall, Miss Fisher. If you’d care to freshen up,” he said, inclining his head, his face expressionless. He wouldn’t give in to her obvious ploy to unnerve him.

“Perhaps later,” she said, moving by him into the sitting room, passing so closely you’d have thought they were in the narrowest of hallways and not an open room. He went to the small cabinet in which his liquor and bar glasses were stored. So far, he thought things were going well.

“Can I offer you a drink?”

“Thank you, I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she replied. He’d recently got his hands on a fairly good bottle of gin which he’d saved for a special occasion. He mixed a couple of dry martinis in a shaker, poured two glasses and handed one to her.

“I hope you’ve brought your appetite tonight,” he said.

“Oh, I have,” she answered coyly, dragging her eyes along his body. He gave her a scolding look.

“You won’t put me off balance tonight, Phryne, nor will you hurry my plans.”

“You have a plan for us, Jack?” she teased, “do I get a say in it?”

“My plans are not mysterious, just dinner, and sharing your very pleasant company, and of course you have a say. You’re my invited guest, I wouldn’t like you to be uncomfortable.”

She glanced around the room thinking it would be hard to be uncomfortable here. The entryway opened into what was essentially one large room, split into two smaller spaces by half-height, built-in, glass front cases that carved out a sitting area and a dining space. Instead of a dining table, however, there was a desk against one wall of that space, with an easy chair and reading lamp in the corner. Obviously  Jack used this as a home office and did not often entertain dinner guests.

The sitting room, where they now stood, was cozy and bright, with large windows facing the back garden providing ample light. A brick fireplace, surrounded by a simple wood mantel, stood on the facing wall. Jack had placed two leather armchairs in close proximity to it. Phryne could tell which was his favorite, its cushion showing far more wear than the the other. It was angled, to receive the warmth of the fireplace, but with a view out the back window into the garden. The most prominent feature in the room was a tall, open bookcase, full to overflowing.

“You have an inordinate amount of books, Jack,” she said, amused, but unsurprised. In addition to the groaning bookshelves, more volumes were stacked neatly in out of the way corners of the room where he wouldn’t fall over them. There was even a stack next to his favorite chair that had a small square of wood on top, and seemed to be operating as a make-shift end table. Another book, most likely the one he was currently reading, lay on top.

“No more than you,” he said, remembering her well stocked shelfs, “but I have less space in which to store them and have had to get creative.” He was watching her as she surveyed his home with her sharp eye, her expression changing while she familiarized herself, her lips curving up prettily once or twice. She didn’t look at all out of place, and that pleased him. She crossed to his book shelf and perused the titles, tapping her finger on _For the Term of His Natural Life_.

“Have you seen the film?” she asked. He gave her a look which she read instantly, and she laughed. “Of course you haven’t,” she said.

“Not much of a film buff, as you well know,” he replied.

“I saw it in England. It was lovely, but I don’t think you would have liked it. They made some changes from the book—to make it more palatable to a genteel audience, I suppose,” she said dubiously. “Some of the locations made me a bit homesick.” She smiled at the memory.

He imagined her, sitting in a darkened theater, looking at scenes from home. He wondered if that had influenced her decision to come back. If it had, he was forever grateful.

The evening light was slanting through the window, falling on her and bathing her in its warm glow. He took her now empty cocktail glass from her, set it and his aside, and reached for her. She came easily and he pulled her close, kissing her intently. Her return of his kiss was without hesitation. She reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and melted into him. When they pulled apart, she smiled up at him.

“About time, Jack. I feel as though I’ve been here for ages!”

“Forgive my neglect,” he said. “I’m out of practice at this, but I assumed it was still unacceptable to pounce on one’s date the moment she stepped through the door.”

“That depends on how strongly one’s date holds to propriety,” she said, her fingers playing with the short hairs at the base of his neck. He reached around, disentangling them before this whole night went off the rails.

“Shall we eat?” he said.

“Still sticking to that plan of yours?”

“Indulge me.” He took her hand and led her through to the kitchen. “I don’t have much of a dining space, so I’ve set up a spot in the garden, if that’s acceptable.”

“Dining _al fresco_! What a wonderful idea!,” she said cheerfully. He took a large covered pot from the stove and when he removed the lid the aroma made her mouth water. “If that tastes half as good as it smells, you may give Mr. Butler a run for his money.”

“I’d never hold up to him,” he said modestly. “Unless you were content to eat the only two good meals I know how to make for the rest of your days.” He ladled generous, steaming servings onto plates and set them on a tray to transport them outside. A basket of sliced bread and two wine glasses already waited on the tray.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked.

“You could carry the wine, if you don’t mind,” he said. He uncorked a bottle of red and handed it to her. Picking up the tray, he pushed open the screen door, holding it ajar with his back to let her through. Once outside, she hesitated and he led the way. He set the tray down on the table he’d prepared, put a plate and crystal wine glass at each seat, and the bread in the center, setting the now empty tray aside.

After lighting the candle on the table—he’d lit the others shortly before she arrived— he went around to one side to pull out her chair. When he turned his head to look for her, she was still standing just outside the door, the bottle of wine hanging from one hand, her other pressed flat against her stomach, an expression on her face he was unable to read. His heart sank. He feared he may have overstep his bounds with his preparations after all.

Phryne was stunned by the scene before her. She was having trouble catching her breath and felt her eyes growing moist. Not ten feet from the door, under a eucalyptus tree, sat a table covered to the ground with a pristine white linen cloth. Two wooden-armed chairs, likewise covered, sat at opposite ends. A centerpiece of fresh cut flowers stood beside a candlestick holding a taper candle, it’s flickering flame protected from the breeze by a hurricane glass. Above it all, hung from a branch of the tree, was a lantern lit inside by a thick white candle. Dangling from the tree's overhanging, craggy limbs were more makeshift lanterns. Jars of various sizes, tied to the tree with lengths of twine, and glittering in the coming twilight like so many early stars.

Many men had tried unsuccessfully to impress her. Most often they’d dragged her to excessively formal, stuffy old restaurants, with snooty servers and tired, overpriced menus. This was—this was so— _perfect_.

“Phryne?”

She met his eye and saw an expression of confusion and some embarrassment. She shook her head slightly to try to tell him he was mistaken, that she wasn’t put off. She realized she needed to get over her shock and find her tongue quickly.

“I’m—oh Jack, this is—” it was harder than she thought. “What have you done?” she said in a extremely pleased tone, smiling widely and watching the relief pass over his face. She managed to make her feet move ahead and went to sit in the chair he held. “It’s lovely, Jack.”

“It’s just dinner,” he said, in a satisfied tone, taking the bottle of wine from her and filling their glasses.

She took a moment to look around the garden, trying to pull herself together. It was walled, providing privacy from the neighbors and larger than she’d expected, given the size of the house. There was a small bed with flowers, some of them now sitting in the vase on the table, and several raised boxes in which herbs and vegetables grew. She noticed a canvas hammock slung between two larger trees toward the back of the garden.

“This is a beautiful space, Jack,” she said. He nodded, looking pleased.

“It’s what sold me on the place. In good weather, I think I spend more time out here than inside.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said. She scooped up a generous forkful of whatever it was that was that smelled so incredibly, and put it in her mouth. Her eyes flew open, then rolled back into her head and closed. Her head dropped back and she let out a moan that had the blood rushing from Jack’s head to regions south.

“Oh, Jack,” she whispered in breathy tones that weren’t helping him keep control. “This is delicious.”

He took a sip of his wine and cleared his throat. “You like it?” he asked, smiling shyly.

“Like it?” she cried, taking another bite. “It’s amazing! I don’t see why you need come to my home for your meals if you’re capable of this!”

“First of all, this is one of very few meals I do well, and, though you might be surprised to hear me admit it, your home has more to recommend it than the food.”

“Good answer, Jack,” she said, tucking in to her meal enthusiastically. His heart swelled watching her.

“You have out done yourself tonight. The dinner, this setting. Really Jack, I’m overwhelmed.”

“Phryne Fisher overwhelmed? How will I ever match it? Perhaps I’ve miscalculated and set the bar a little too high,” he said with mock concern.

“I’m not worried about that,” she said, blinking up at him through those long dark lashes of hers. He reached across the table, covering her hand with his.

“I’m glad you're here, Phryne,” he said.

“So am I, Jack.”

The rest of dinner passed very pleasantly. For as much time as they spent together, they rarely seemed to lack for things to talk about, and the conversation was surprisingly free of subtext and innuendo. When silence did fall, it was not at all uncomfortable. Once they’d finished with dessert, which he confessed he hadn’t made himself, he cleared the plates, and returned with a bottle of whisky for an after dinner drink. They sat back in their chairs, as the sky grew darker, and the only light came from the candles.

“Does the hammock get much use?” Phryne inquired.

“A lot, actually,” he said. “I like to read there sometimes, and I’ll come out to it when I can’t sleep.”

“Do you often have trouble sleeping?” she asked. He looked at her, hesitating in his answer.

“Well—you know how hot it can get. Sometimes it’s more pleasant out of doors,” he shrugged.

“Of course,” she nodded. She doubted it was only warm nights that kept him awake. The war years and his job were more than enough reason for the occasional sleepless night, or unpleasant dream. She was sure there were men in his profession that could see what they saw and then let it go, sleeping like babies. Jack was not one of them, but she could tell he didn’t want to talk about any of that tonight, and she wouldn’t push.

“Is the hammock large enough for two?” she said instead.

“Shall we find out, Miss Fisher?” he asked, standing and holding out his hand to her.

It was a comic proceeding, getting the two of them into the hammock. He got in first and set his hand firmly around her waist from behind to steady her. She plopped herself down with a bit too much force and the hammock swung violently, threatening to flip and toss them over. She squealed with laughter and he joined in while dropping one leg over the side, bending his knee and planting his foot on the ground to secure them. She imagined the laughter was loud enough to have been heard by the neighbors, but that didn’t seem to concern him. Eventually they settled in, his elbows bent, his hands linked behind his neck at the base of his skull. She lay beside him, her head resting on the pillow provided by his folded arm.

“I can see Orion,” she said, pointing up at the star filled sky. “And there’s Rigel.”

“How well do you know the stars and constellations?” he asked.

“Well enough, I suppose.”

“Did you use them in your flights?”

“Celestial navigation? Only if I have to. I try to limit my flying to the daylight hours, especially this last trip. The areas I was flying over were unfamiliar to me. As much as I wished to hurry my trip, I didn’t risk flying in the dark.”

He was glad to hear she’d been cautious, but not too surprised. She drove fast and often acted quickly, but she knew her abilities, and her limits, and was rarely reckless. They lay side by side, watching the sky darken and more stars appear.

“The other morning I was able to spot Mars, Jupiter and Venus,” he remarked, making her wonder just how many early mornings found him out here. A bright light streaked through the sky.

“Did you see that?” she said, excitedly. Shooting stars weren’t that unusual, but it always thrilled her to see one. “Did you make a wish?” she asked, turning to him to find him looking down at her.

“No need to,” he said, his voice low and intimate.

They shifted, turning toward each other. The hammock folded slightly, pressing their bodies together. He ran a hand gently along her arm. She reached up, laying her palm along his jaw and stoking his cheek with her thumb. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“Take me to bed, Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave you hanging again, so two chapters today. And, I've changed the rating on this work to M. I wasn't planning to take this story to that level, and it will probably still be fairly tame, but the date seems to be going so well I thought I'd leave my options open!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night turns into later night.

He tugged the vest up over his head, and let it drop to the bedroom floor. He looked down at her. They were both in stocking-feet and she’d lost at least an inch in height. He could see her bent head, the curve of her neck and the way her hair hung forward around her face. She was already working diligently at the buttons on his shirt. He was surprised by how calm he felt. He’d expected to be beside himself with nerves, but he felt steady and sure. This felt right. He put his hands on her shoulders and felt her quiver. He noticed her hands were shaking.

“Are you cold?” he said, running his hands down her arms to warm her, “you’re trembling.”

“No—yes,” she laughed nervously, stepping back a pace. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m a bit on edge.”

He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips, kissing them lightly. “We don’t have to do this, Phryne. If you’re not ready, I can wait. I can wait as long as you need.”

“I don’t want to wait. I want you so much, and I want you now.” She ran her hands up his chest, fisting them around his braces and pulling him toward her. He swayed forward, letting himself be drawn. “There have just been a lot of firsts lately and I guess it’s catching up with me,” she said.

“Firsts?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

 _“You_ , Jack. I mean you,” she said, a bit desperately. “The first man I couldn’t leave behind. The first man I asked to follow me. The first man I’ve loved.”

“That can’t be true,” he said, gobsmacked.

“It can. It is. I’ve never loved anyone like this before. Not like this,” she repeated. “What if I get it wrong? What if I mess it up?”

He sat down on the bed and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms gently around her. He wanted her near, but it was also a bit if a ploy to buy time, to give himself a chance to hear and take in what she’d said. The first man she’d loved? He’d never in his wildest dreams imagined that. His head swam. She leaned her forehead against his, her breathing ragged.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said.

“You know what one of the most wonderful things about you is?” he asked. “The wonderful thing about us?” She pulled back and looked at him, questioning. “There’s very little you can’t do, Phryne, and even less that we can’t do together. I’ve no idea what I’m doing either, and I was counting on you to help me through. But, I think this is better, because it means we’re going to have to help each other through. We can do that, don’t you think?”

“I’ve no doubt,” she replied, laying her head on his shoulder and feeling easier. She wasn’t alone in this. They were in this together.

“I love you, Phryne. More than anything, and all I want is to make you happy. Whatever you need, whatever you want, if I can give it to you, I will.”

She felt herself growing calmer, more steady. She stood from his lap and took a step back so that she was facing him square on. He watched as her eyes changed, going from warmly affectionate, to heated, and then blazing. Without taking her eyes from his, she loosened the tie of her skirt and let it fall to the floor, kicking it aside.

“Whatever I need, Jack?” she taunted, arching an eyebrow lasciviously.

“Name it,” he growled, his eyes moving over the strangely provocative garment she was wearing to the glimpse of garter peeking out from underneath. His lips parted as his chest heaved with quickened breath.

She brought one foot up onto the bed, alongside his hip, and unclipped the garter from her stocking.

“Could you help me remove these? They are so delicate,” she said, wide-eyed and blinking.

He ran the tips of his fingers lightly around the edge of the stocking, then laying his palms flat on either side of her thigh, began to slowly roll the sheer silk down her leg. She shivered now in earnest, her body warming to the touch of his hands, their roughness against her soft skin. He paused, brushing his fingers behind her knee and chuckling to discover she was sensitive there, and a little ticklish. He continued down over the perfectly formed calf that had tormented him for so very long, and slipped the stocking gently from her foot. She shifted, offering the other leg and he repeated the process, trying very hard to keep his eyes from the glorious view she was currently offering him between her thighs. He wasn’t succeeding and it was all he could to not to reach for her. He bent and pressed a kiss to the soft flesh of her inner thigh before dutifully completing his task, his breath catching when she lowered her leg to stand between his thighs. His hands went to her hips, sliding up over her body.

“All night long, you’ve had nothing underneath this?” he said, his voice slightly strangled.

He stood, wanting to kiss her but she turned in his arms, and leaned back against his chest. She placed her hands over his and drew them up to cup her breasts as if to confirm his suspicions. She pressed back against him, hearing his rough intake of breath. Jack kneaded her through the thin fabric, resisting the urge to run his hand back down her stomach and touch her where he most desired to. He wanted this to last, he wanted to take it slowly.

“It’s a new design,” she said, replying to his comments about her clothing, “eliminates the need for other lingerie. I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“Women’s fashion,” he rumbled against her neck, teasing her nipples between thumb and forefinger and feeling them grow hard, “ingenious and dangerous.”

“Challenging too. I could use a hand with the buttons,” she panted, breathlessly.

He pressed his hips against her briefly, and then pulled back, tracing the line of pearl buttons at the back of her neck with a forefinger. She had felt him stirring, and now his breath in her ear had her reeling with anticipation. As his fingers worked nimbly at the fastenings, he dipped his head to kiss the skin revealed when each button released, pressing his lips to the base of her neck and down her spine, roused further by her small sighs of pleasure. Eight, small, pearl buttons, and each time, with each kiss, the taste of her and her scent filled him to overflowing. His task completed, he settled his hands on her shoulders, massaging lightly with his thumbs, he didn’t want to stop touching her.

“Anything else I can do for you?” he asked, his voice impossibly low and raspy. She turned to face him again, stepping back to where he had a better view, and pushed the blouse from one shoulder at a time, letting it slipped from her body. Lastly, she released the garter belt and tossed it aside so that she was naked from head to toe.

“Yes. You can take off your clothes. All of them,” she demanded, with much more confidence than she’d felt earlier. He was looking at her as though he wanted to devour her and it made her feel powerful and alive.

He worked to finish what she’d started, pushing the braces off his shoulder, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off impatiently. She grew tired of waiting too, and reached for his belt, unbuckling it and drawing it roughly from it’s loops.

“This isn’t what I meant by helping each other through,” he said as she moved on to the buttons of his fly “but I quite like your way.”

“You’ve fallen behind, Jack,” she said, eagerly, “I’m just making us even.” She slipped her hands under his waistband and pushed his trousers and smalls down in one, dropping to her knees to help him step out of them. She ran her hands along one leg, up from the rock hard calf to his highly muscled thigh. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her to her feet, gripping her to him and kissing her fiercely. She kissed him back, just as intently, pressing her body to his. He relished the taste of her tongue tangling with his, the feel of her taut nipples against his chest, her hands gliding over his back.

“Phryne,” he groaned into her mouth, his need growing more out of control by the second. He turned her, lowering her gently onto the bed and climbed on top of her, moving against her. His weight on her was glorious and she pushed up off the the bed to increase the friction. She opened her legs to let him between them and rocked against him, crying out at the feel of him on her sensitive flesh. She reached for him.

“It’s too fast,” he complained, “I wanted to—”

“Time for that later, Jack. I want you now,” she ordered.

He complied. How could he not? He had promised to give her anything she wanted.


	19. Chapter 19

“Remind me. What exactly was I so worried about?” she said, sounding happy and languid, and anything but concerned.

“I don’t recall,” he said. He was on his back with his eyes closed, feeling utterly blissful. He had Phryne sprawled over him. One of her legs resting between his, her head on his chest, and an arm draped over his shoulder. He felt himself drifting into sleep thinking that he might like to stay in this place forever. He touched her lightly with his fingertips. She squirmed, wriggling against him.

Then again, a little loss of sleep never killed anyone. He began to walk his fingers down her back, spider like. She rolled off of him, bristling.

“Jack!” she protested.

“Ticklish, Miss Fisher?” He rolled to his side, propping himself up on his elbow to look at her. The room was dimly lit by the light of the moon through the window, and he could just make out her profile. He ran the back of his hand along her arm soothingly. A silent apology for teasing her.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she said, irritably.

“Very much,” he answered, leaning down to kiss her neck. She sighed, arching her head back to allow him easier access, any irritation forgotten. “You are so beautiful,” he said, smoothing his hand over her belly and brushing the underside of one breast. “I hope that—I hadn’t meant it to be quite so—oh, hell, did you—”

“Are you inquiring whether I liked it, Jack?”

He nodded.

“I did like it. Very much,” she said, echoing his own words. “Was it not how you imagined it would be?”

“That depends, which one of the thousands of times I’ve imagined this are we talking about?”

“Thousands of times?” she said, incredulously.

“At least that,” he said. “And in not one of them did I accurately imagine how incredibly alluring you are. You drive me completely mad.”

“Thousands of times,” she repeated wistfully. “And were they all different?”

“There were—variations on a theme. Some favorites revisited. Repeatedly.”

“Shall we see how many of them we can make real?” she queried, turning to face him and placing her palm on his hip, her fingers gripping greedily into his firm flesh.

“Sounds like a worthy challenge,” he said, bringing his mouth down over hers.

 

* * *

 

They sat at the breakfast table. She was happily eating, and blithely ignoring his complaints.

“But, I answered under duress,” he protested. When she’d sprung it on him, they had just had the type of encounter he’d had dreamed of countless times. He’d been heroically restrained, seeing to her needs, twice _,_ before seeking his own relief. He’d been feeling a bit smug, and thoroughly sated. It hadn’t been fair of her to ask just then.

“Are you sure  _‘duress’_ is the word you’re looking for?” she replied, cooly. “Do you always eat this well? It’s a wonder you’re not enormous,” she said, scooping up the last of her garden fresh tomatoes and fluffy scrambled eggs. “I was so hungry I’d have eaten anything this morning, but this is delicious.”

“Thank you, and no, I do not always make such an elaborate breakfast. My houseguest requested it and I was hoping to impress her. Stop changing the subject.”

“I’m not changing anything, I simply have nothing to add. You agreed to accompany me, Jack. If you want to go back on your word, I won’t stop you. But, I would very much like you there with me,” she said, looking up and locking eyes with him. He felt her foot brush against his ankle and move slowly up his leg from her seat across the table. He sighed heavily.

“What time is it again?” he asked.

“You can pick me up at seven,” she said, trying not to gloat too much. “Oh— and did I mention that it’s formal dress?”

He groaned.

“Don’t be such a grump,” she said. “You look splendid in formal dress and so do I.”

 _“You_ certainly do. At least there is that saving grace,” he said. He rose from the table to clear their empty plates. She watched him at the sink, scraping and rinsing and tidying up. He wore only a bathrobe, his legs and feet bare. Now that she had intimate knowledge of how the rest of him looked bare, the mere sight of him, standing at the sink and doing something as mundane as rinsing a dish had her body sparking.

“What do you normally do on a day off?” she asked. She hoped he didn’t have to rush off anywhere. Since her household thought her out of town, she couldn’t return too early. Besides, she wasn’t ready to leave his home just yet.

“Other than the odd errand, I might go for a ride on my bike, maybe spend some time in the garden, or do some reading.” He turned to face her, leaning back against the counter. His hair very nearly stood on end on the top of his head, the waves completely unrestrained. She knew her hands had contributed greatly to its disarray and the thought made her warm. “Today,” he continued, “since I’m suffering from a marked lack of sleep, I might just return to my bed for awhile.”

She stood and prowled toward him. “What an inviting idea,” she said.

“Care to join me?” his mouth curved up into what was becoming a very familiar grin. She nodded.

“Right, then,” he said. He moved so suddenly, that before she knew it, he’d picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. She squealed with delight. “Mind your head,” he warned as he hauled her, kicking and laughing, to his room.

He dropped her casually on to the bed. Even as she fell, her hands were reaching for the sash of his bathrobe. He assisted, removing the offending garment as quickly as he could, moving to join her, but she pressed a foot against his pelvis, halting his forward progress.

“Wait,” she said, her eyes taking in every inch of him. “I want to look at you.”

He’d have thought such scrutiny would have him blushing, and it probably did, but he liked it. He’d never been ashamed of his body. It served him well, though he’d always thought himself a bit too lean and wiry. She seemed appreciative, and the way she looked at him was exciting. After indulging her for a minute, he came forward, one knee on the bed, leaning over her.

“You’re turn,” he said, watching as she untied her gown and spread it open around her. The black silk was in stark contrast to her ivory skin. He ran his hand gently over her from tip to toe, watching her shiver at his touch. She was the most breathtakingly beautiful thing he’d ever seen and he could scarcely believe she was here, in his bed. His hand moved slowly back up her leg, settling between her thighs, his fingers stroking. Her breathing increased as her eyes darkened. She brought her hands to her breasts, arching into his touch, murmuring encouragements as her muscles grew lax and her thighs parted. He felt her shudder softly and she reached up for him. He lay down beside her on the bed, their limbs tangling together. His lips desperately sought hers as his hands moved over her increasingly familiar curves.

He marveled at the wonder of her. She was so warm and eager. He hadn’t thought it possible to want anything so much or so often. He’d never imagined feeling so completely content. He pressed her hands back into the mattress on either side of her head, interlacing his fingers with hers. He held himself up off of her, watching her face as he moved inside her. When he felt her tensing, he released one of her hands so she could bring it between them the way she had before. One day, he’d try relieving her of that duty, but not this time. She knew what she needed, and this time, in the light of day, he wanted to see her face when she came undone beneath him.

She was close. Very close, and it was all he could do to hold on, to make it last just a little longer. He increased his pace. Her eyes opened and met his, holding fast. Her lips parted, but she made no sound. She just kept looking into his eyes, her chest heaving. He felt tears threatening to escape and thought he might have seen the same in her eyes. And then he felt it. And witnessed it. Her head dropping back, her eyes closing, a single tear escaping, as her body bucked and clenched all around him. Wave after wave until he couldn’t hang on. She cried out his name, and he fell, following her over the edge.

He collapsed onto her, spent and gasping, barely able to contain the rush of emotion overtaking him. “God help me, Phryne. How I love you.”

She soothed him with gentle words and caresses. He rolled to her side, pulled her into his arms, and they slept.

 

* * *

 

“Did everything go well, miss?” Dot asked. “I’m sure you were happy to be investigating again.”

Miss Fisher hadn’t arrived home from her ‘case’ until early afternoon. Mr. Butler had filled Dot in on the progress that had been made between her and Inspector Robinson, and his theory that there’d been no case, but a clandestine rendezvous planned instead. Dot had worked for Miss Fisher long enough not to be scandalized by that. She was a bit surprised the principled Inspector would so readily agree, though less so than she would have been before her wedding night.

“Everything was splendid, Dot. It may have been my most enjoyable case yet,” Phryne said. She would have liked to have let Dot in on the truth. She wasn’t ashamed of what they were doing, other than having lied to her friends, but she didn’t know how Jack would feel about Dot knowing of their night together. She wanted to share with someone the details of their evening. His romantic preparations, the candlelight and the fact that he was a remarkable cook. But the rest of the night, and morning, was a private matter between her and Jack. And, Dot was the wife of Jack’s Senior Constable, further complicating matters. Phryne thought it best she keep her news to herself. Dot would know all she needed to soon enough.

Things seemed to have progressed nicely in her absence on the younger romance as well. It was reported that Clotilde had come for supper and, though Mr. Butler had kept his distance, it was his opinion that the couple had been able to resolve some of their tensions. Mr. Thompson and Miss Leonard were planning to see each other again tonight after his first full day at his new job.

Phryne thought the elder Leonards were likely to be at the charity event she and Jack were attending this evening, and she hoped to get a chance to ascertain where they stood on the subject. She also planned to plant a seed in the ear of her Aunt Prudence, convincing her to support her goddaughter in her choice of mate. But that was all later. Right now she longed for a long soak and perhaps a short nap before dressing for the party. She stepped gingerly into the bath Dot had prepared, sinking down gratefully into its enveloping warmth.

“Have you decided what you’ll wear tonight, miss?” Dot asked.

“Yes. I’m going to wear the new green satin. The one with the trailing shoulder scarf?” she said. Dot nodded. “Will you be able to see that it’s pressed?”

“Of course,” Dot replied. “Shall I call Bert and Cec to drive you?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Phryne said. “Inspector Robinson will call for me tonight.” Dot couldn’t help but hear the pleased tone and note the proud tilt of her head.

“Inspector Robinson, miss?” she asked, in all innocence. “Is he assisting you on a case?”

“No,” she said, rather thrilled to be saying this out loud to someone, “it is a purely social outing. The Inspector and I are—well, I suppose you’d say we’re courting. Though that sounds terribly old fashioned. What is it called these days? Stepping out sounds ridiculous as well. I’m not sure what to call it, but we will be spending more time together and I believe it’s safe to say you’ll be seeing him here regularly.” She was positively giddy, and Dot was fixing to burst, congratulating herself silently for her part in bringing this about.

“Is that so, miss? I think that’s wonderful. Inspector Robinson is a good man,” Dot said, “and, if _you_ like him, a very lucky man as well.”

“Yes, Dot. He is that,” she agreed, on both counts. Dot left her to attend to her work and Phryne settled back in the tub, letting her mind wander. Last night had gone so much better, and in some ways, very differently than she’d imagined. She’d had several scenarios in her head, most of them involving a Jack so desperate for her that she’d barely made it inside his door. In none of her versions had she been so nervously self-conscious. He’d been able to calm her though, which came as no real surprise. He had a way of settling her nerves on the rare occasions they threatened to spin out of control.

What had been slightly surprising was his skill as a lover. Skill, was perhaps not the perfect word. She’d had more skilled lovers, and she hadn’t ever thought he’d be a poor one, but she hadn’t expected it to feel so very intimate, which was absurd. The act was intimate by its very nature, but with Jack it seemed less about the physical connection and more about an intensely personal, emotional connection. It had rocked her.

That he was a generous lover was not surprising, nor that he seemed to be a quick study, picking up on what she liked and using it to his (and her) best advantage. She felt herself flush at the memory and slid down submerging herself completely under the water. She didn’t think she’d be able to convince him to stay the night tonight. Peter was still residing in her home and Jack had to work in the morning, but she was content in knowing she’d see him soon. It was another new sensation in a host of new sensations—this longing to see someone she’d just hours ago left—but she embraced it, just as she always embraced the new and exciting.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack take take their relationship public.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter and epilogue. I've had fun with this one. Thanks for following along and the kudos and comments!

Annabelle Glassier leaned in and whispered conspiratorially in Phryne’s ear. “So, Phryne? Have you set your sights on anyone in particular tonight?”

Phryne sipped her cocktail with a mona lisa smile playing on her lips. “As it happens, there is a man that has my eye tonight,” _the rest of me, as well_ , she thought to herself. Annabelle followed her gaze to where Jack stood, conversing politely with another man.

“Oh yes, him!” Annabelle swooned, “he’s quite a _sheik_. Leave it to you to sort out the newest and most intriguing addition to our tired circle. I wish you better luck then I had with him, doll. I did my best, but all I got for my troubles was an icy mitt.”

Phryne bit back a grin, and swallowed the laugh bubbling up. She imagined Jack would find Annabelle vapid and grating. The woman had spent six months in America two years ago and her speech was still peppered throughout with the affected language of a flapper. She hadn’t been graced with natural beauty, and rather than cultivate her own personality, she tended to grasp on to whatever was all the rage at the moment. For all her efforts, she always seemed to be one step behind. She did try, poor thing.

Rupert Loutgrose joined them, carrying with him an air of supreme boredom. Phryne rolled her eyes. He’d been relentless in his pursuit of her, to no avail. If Annabelle was gauche, Rupert was positively boorish.

“What are you beguiling felines talking about with your heads so close together,” he inquired, in what he thought a provocative manner.

“Nothing surprising,” Annabelle replied. “Phryne has her eye on the handsomest man in the room tonight, as always.”

Mary Meddle overheard and turned to join in. “Are you talking about that good looking Detective?” she asked. “Everyone’s curious as to where he came from. I’m afraid you’ll have stiff competition if you hope to land him, Phryne.”

Rupert looked peeved, which Phryne found satisfying.

“You all misunderstand me. Detective Inspector Robinson is my guest tonight. He is here with me, and I am with him,” Phryne said, watching as this news sunk in. The two women blinked at her in confusion and Rupert’s face turned positively purple.

“When you say you are ‘with’ him—” Annabelle began, “do you mean he is your lover?”

“Suffice it to say we are together. Tonight, and for the foreseeable future.”

This felt surprisingly good. And not just because of the astonished looks she was receiving. She did enjoy shocking, but this was something more. She would have been doing Jack a disservice to let anyone misunderstand their relationship, and she found she wanted people to know he was with her. She’d been proud walking in on his arm tonight. She also appreciated the way he handled himself. She knew this wasn’t his idea of a good time, but he had been a perfect gentleman from the moment he arrived on her doorstep. There’d been no grumbling and he hadn’t clung to her side all evening, checking his watch. In fact, he’d been content to let her loose, not even mildly objecting to the fact that she conversed with several other men. He seemed sure of her. That should have annoyed her, but it didn’t. She discovered she was sure of him too, and she liked that, very much.

“Well,” said Mary, wide-eyed, “who’d have thought?”

“Phryne Fisher, off the market? What a ridiculous notion,” Rupert sneered, “the pathetic fellow won’t know what hit him when you grow bored of slumming and inevitably seek something new and closer to your own kind.”

Phryne laughed derisively. Did the man really still harbor hope that ‘something new’ might ever be him?

“That man over there is ten times the superior of every other man here. In every way,” she said, directing a withering glance from Rupert’s head to his toes, “and I’m quite sure I was never on any _‘market’_ to begin with. Excuse me, I have something I wish to discuss with my Aunt Prudence. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” she said pleasantly, as she sashayed away.

* * *

Someone was droning on in Jack’s ear about his new motorcar, or maybe it was an airplane? Jack was only half listening. It seemed he was merely required to make vaguely approving sounds and nod his head on occasion. He used the rest of his conscious mind to watch Phryne holding court across the room.

 _Where in the world did she find these gowns?_ he wondered. Tonight’s was stunning. Literally. It had left him stunned when she came down her stairs to meet him. He’d stood gawping like an idiot, unable to form a coherent sentence for a full thirty seconds. The shade of green was as vibrant as a sea of emeralds and the way it hugged her body, clinging to every curve and pouring over her like water; _stunning_. There was no other word for it.

He wasn’t sure what she was discussing with the little group surrounding her now, but he had a good idea it involved him. None of the party was shy about looking obviously in his direction, and he recognized one women from having met her earlier tonight, and not having been able to get away from her fast enough.

Phryne laughed suddenly, but without her usual infectious joy, and the expression on her face when she spoke to the man beside her had Jack wishing he was near enough to overhear. Whatever she’d said seemed to put the bloke in his place, and would surely have been more entertaining than talk of horsepower and blocked engine valves. _A car_ — the man was definitely talking about a car.

“If you’re having trouble with your motorcar, I’ve recently met a very skilled mechanic,” Jack said. “He operates out of a garage on Union.”

“Well, I don’t trust my motorcar to just anyone,” the man blustered.

“I’m sure you don’t. Miss Fisher is the same way with her Hispano-Suiza, but she swears by the lad,” Jack said.

“Is that so?” the man said, suddenly far more ready to trust Jack’s word on the matter.

“In fact,” Jack said, as if letting the man in on a great secret, “she might rather I didn’t spread the word too much, lest he become unavailable when she needs him.”

“Quite right! A good mechanic is hard to find! Well, if Miss Fisher avails herself of this man’s services for that spectacular automobile of hers, I dare say I can trust him with mine. Where did you say I could find him?”

At that moment, Phryne turned her head and caught him looking at her. She smiled.

“Mr. Robinson? Did you hear me? The garage. Where did you say it was?”

 

 

**Epilogue**

* * *

 

Three months later

 

“It was so sensible of Clotilde and Peter to marry at the courthouse, don’t you agree?” Phryne asked.

“Yes, very sensible,” Jack murmured in response.

“With her mother offering to gift her what would have been spent on a wedding gown, and Aunt P’s offer to host a reception, they’re that much closer to Peter and Joe’s plan to buy out the owner and take over the garage themselves.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Tilly’s doing quite well at House of Flueri, too. She has a good head for numbers and her uncanny knack to flatter and cajole comes in very handy.”

"I imagine,” he mumbled.

She sighed. “It was a nice little ceremony.”

Jack huffed out an exasperated laugh and lifted his head from her chest. “Am I boring you, Miss Fisher? Because if you’d rather chat—”

She blinked at him in surprise. “No! no. It’s delightful. Please continue.”

 _Delightful._ Not exactly what he was going for. He changed tacks, moving up and attaching his lips to that spot on her neck that usually drove her crazy. Soon he heard the wonderful little whimper that told him he was on the right track. She moved to bring herself under him and pressed up against him. He slid his hand down her side, over her hip and around to the silky flesh of her inner thigh.

“Oh! I almost forgot! Aunt P wants you to come to the party,” she said.

“Me?” he said, momentarily diverted from his task.

“Of course you,” she said. “Who else?” Fisting her hands in his hair, she guided him to her breast, purring in content when he took the hint.

Jack considered her statement. He hadn’t thought her Aunt liked him much. She’d seemed less than thrilled by their relationship. Phryne insisted that had nothing do to with him. She said it was because her Aunt so respected him, that she had frowned about things at first, until she was sure it wasn’t a flight of fancy for Phryne. He wasn’t sure he believed that. He also couldn’t be bothered to care much. Her Aunt seemed less than thrilled about most things. He kissed a trail down Phryne's stomach, following a path to her inner sanctum.

“As a matter of fact, she asked for you specifically,” Phryne said, then continued in her best imitation of her aunt’s voice, “she said to me; ‘I imagine you’ll be wanting to bring that Inspector of yours.’ That’s as good as an engraved invitation Jack!”

“Phryne,” he sighed, resting his forehead just above her naval, “I’m attempting some of my best work here, and your aunt’s voice in my head is not—helpful. Must we discuss this now?”

“Of course not, darling,” she soothed, running her hands through his hair gently this time, “I just thought you’d like to know and, since we did stand up for the couple as witness, I’m sure they’d want us both there.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

He dragged his body up over hers, making sure to keep as much physical contact as possible. He kissed her deeply, exploring her mouth with his tongue, bringing his hand between her thighs, stroking gently. He found her surprisingly aroused for her seeming lack of attention. She pressed down into his touch and let his fingers play her in ways that had been highly successful for him in the past. He could feel her excitement building.

“You really want my answer?” he asked, in a voice little more than a rumble.

“Yes,” she sighed.

‘What was that, Miss Fisher?” he breathed in her ear, nibbling at the tender lobe. He wasn’t sure if she was answering his question, or expressing pleasure at his efforts, which he’d been steadfastly continuing despite her interruptions. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Yes, Jack,” she said, more clearly, “Oh, yes!”

He nudged her legs apart with his knee and settled himself between her thighs, resting on his forearms to take his weight off her and rocking against her. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, looking up at him with imploring eyes. He pushed in slowly to seat himself deep inside, feeling a small sense of triumph when she dropped her head back and moaned. As familiar as this now felt, it was still dizzying. This first moment of joining. She was warm and soft and he wanted nothing more than to stay here forever.

“Allow me to make myself clear,” he said, breathing heavily and willing himself not to move. She tightened the grip of her legs and clenched her muscle around him, nearly crumbling his resolve. He smiled as he met her mischievous eyes. She knew exactly what she did to him.

“My lovely Phryne,” he said, his voice strong and genuinely heartfelt. “I will live in thy heart—” he moved, finally, pulling himself almost entirely from her, “die in thy lap—” he thrust firmly into her again, impossibly deep. Her eyes lit on fire and he began to move in earnest, “be buried in thy eyes—” he added a small rotation to his hips that caused her to cry out. He stilled until she looked up at him, a silent plea on her lips. He kissed the tip of her nose, “and moreover— I will go with you to your aunt’s.”

She laughed. It was better than any symphony, and the vibration that run through her body into his, set him into motion again.

Phryne felt a rush of sensation that was almost too much to bear, she let her body climb, and when he placed his hand between them, a move he'd perfected by now, she thought she might come apart with joy.

What a wonderful, miraculous turn of events. Jack Robinson was in her bed, between her thighs, and quoting Shakespeare.

All was right with the world.


End file.
